


And It All Came Tumbling Down

by freckleslikeconstellations



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Asian Character, Bullying, Choices, Different First Meetings, DoSAC, Ethics, F/F, F/M, Family, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friendship, Heartbreak, Humour, Labour government, London, Love, MP's expenses, Malcolm says some very inappropriate things, Multi, Political Thriller, Sarcasm, UK Politics, Welsh references, a very brief American trip, domestic abuse, established relationships - Freeform, leaks - Freeform, mentions of real people/events, pop culture references, sexual references/behaviour, so does Moriarty, some violence, threat, very strong language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-11 12:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 47,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13523904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: One-The amount of chances that Amanda Lane has left in the British government. [Also the amount of friends that she has, but she's not on Facebook so who's counting?]Two-Names of people that begin with 'M' who are making her life difficult. One just really wants to kill her. The other is her ex-boyfriend, so, on second-thoughts, he'd probably quite like to kill her too sometimes.Three-For what she's not seeing here.Four-The amount of chapters until this story ends and it could all be too late.For the Raven is coming. The Raven is coming to get them all.





	1. DoSAC

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> Hope your New Year is going well so far. :) Something a bit different from me here, but I hope you like it. 
> 
> A quick note-This is AU in the sense of timelines for both shows-basically I've just picked bits of each and put them all together in this new format in a magpie like fashion, so you don't need to know what happened before this fic just treat it like the beginning of sorts in terms of Sherlock and of course we're near the end of The Thick of It timeline, but no Nicola. Hugh still in place. This is also AU in the sense that I've changed what we know about Mycroft and Sherlock's parents from the show and given them a different back history. No mention of Eurus and Sherrinford. 
> 
> Enjoy and please tell me what you think. :)

**8th May 2009**

 

Amanda Lane isn’t sure what wakes her. It could be the dream where everyone finds out her biggest and darkest secret, the kerfuffle that comes from beneath her bedroom window or the rapping on the front door. Whatever the case is she just lies there for a moment, her white bed sheet tangled around her, her equally pure coloured duvet having been half kicked off her in the night. She thinks about what would happen if everyone knew what she does. She’d get worse stares from her colleagues than she’d got in her dream that’s for sure she thinks. She tries to calm herself down. Her slightly dull black hair cut just past her shoulders lays more crumpled than fanned out against the pillow, whilst her heart chirrups against the cavern of her Asian skin like the echoing in a dark cave in Wales-her homeland. 

 

Another more urgent knock on the door reminds her that she’s in her thirties, not her teens, and in London now. _‘No one’s going to find out.’_ She tries to wriggle any opposing thoughts off. 

 

 _“Amanda?”_ David. It’s her neighbour David. He lives in the opposite flat to hers in a block close to Tower Bridge. She looks out at it sometimes. It’s really quite beautiful at twilight. 

 

It’s not twilight now though; it’s morning and Amanda half-rises, dragging her mass of curvy limbs with her. Her wardrobe door is still slightly open. Last Christmas’s fairy lights are still draped down over it like a lasso. She doesn’t pay much attention to seasons. One just drifts into the next in her mind. The only thing that bothers her is whether she has to take a coat out with her or not. It’s a bit of a teaser to what her whole flat is like really. She never has much time to clean and when she does often she’s too tired to. Her flat exists in this strange sphere where part of it might be clean in one moment and the three other quarters perfectly messy like she’s a farmer moving her herd of cattle around from one area to the next, so that no piece of land ever gets worn out completely. She hears David calling her name again now, so she swings out of bed and grabs her white dressing gown. She’d nicked it from a hotel once. The logo of said hotel is emblazoned vividly upon the chest pocket-a stark reminder of her crime. She smoothes herself down, gives her face a cursory glance in the wardrobe mirror-pale and a little blotchy, but there’s no time to do anything with herself-and goes to answer the door. 

 

Middle-aged David with his thinning brown hair that hangs down by his ears like straw and bracing smile stands there in scruffy, baggy clothing, his hazel-amber eyes upon her. There’s a nick in his neck from where he must have cut himself shaving. 

 

“Sorry to disturb you.” His eyes fail to rest on her brown ones now, dipping instead to roam quickly over her body. 

 

Whilst David’s always been sympathetic towards her and even helped her with her shopping once or twice Amanda tightens her dressing gown. “It’s fine,” she urges him to continue. 

 

David shifts in front of her a little awkwardly, and when his eyes meet hers they’re so heavy with something that she almost wishes that he’d look at her body again. “It’s just I think them lot”-he jerks a chipped and worn thumb over his shoulder now, Northern English accent spiking-“Are waiting for you. Wanted to let you know if you didn't already like.”

 

Amanda’s stomach plunges now and she feels like being sick all over David’s tartan slippers. “The press-The press are waiting for me?” She now realizes _who_ it is that might be stood outside. David nods and she closes the door on him without another word. Spinning around she heads back to her bedroom. Forgetting that she’s merely got on her dressing gown over her pyjamas now she presses her face to the window. They’re all there, a whole crowd of them, like a flock of vultures that she’d once seen on a David Attenborough documentary; only these have journals and cameras with them. Pulling the window up a little she sticks her head out to get a better perspective. Tons of flashes go off. 

 

*

 

 _“Fucking hell,”_ Malcolm Tucker, Director of Communications at Number Ten, Downing Street exclaims in his Scottish accent. A vein in his temple throbs when he sees the face of the Foreign Secretary Amanda Lane with her scruffy ostrich like hair popping her head out of the window on the news inside his office. He’d been scrambling for some papers on his desk, before the next numbskull phoned him about this latest shit-storm, but now he stares mesmerized at the sight of Amanda prolonging the disaster all the more. Finally she withdraws her head. The act brings his words back to life. “What’s she doing?” He waves his hands at the screen as his assistant Sam walks in and adds some papers to his already hill-like pile. “What does she think she’s doing? Couldn't she have thought to comb her hair at least? Get me Mycroft Holmes would you? _Now.”_ He sits down behind his desk with a thump and his spindly fingers already reach for the phone that sits on his desk in anticipation as Sam strides out of his office once more.

 

*

 

Just a few weeks earlier in April, Amanda had gotten up to only the normal noises she’d hear around her-the sound of the man next door showering or people chatting as they’d walked past her flat. She’d shaken her head at the sight of the latest romance novel that she’d been reading sprawled across her bedside cabinet-she must have chucked it sloppily there just before she’d fallen asleep the previous night. She reads them because they’re easy, not taxing, and there’s always, _always_ a happy ending. Though this sometimes annoys her because there are no such things in real life. Or if they are then they haven’t knocked on her door yet. Neither has romance for five months. Perhaps that’s another reason why she reads them. She’d changed into a boyish grey trouser suit with a hum-she always avoided wearing skirts and dresses were saved purely for formal occasions. If that. She _hates_ dresses. She’d felt oddly optimistic though on this non-dress and non-romance day. Of course that had soon descended into her swearing when she’d stepped out into her main living area and seen the rubbish from the previous night’s Chinese still waiting to be dealt with. She’d reassured herself with the fact that she hadn’t had time to deal with it then either, that it would have to wait for later, and sat pointedly turned away from all the mess as she’d checked her phone for messages and e-mails over a quick breakfast of toast and jam. Her mood had improved after she’d had a quick shower and then she’d been off and out of the flat.

 

*

 

She’d said hello to a few people when she’d got out of the ministerial black car and made her way into work. Notably to her assistant and perhaps the closest thing she’s got to a friend-the small, mousy looking Molly Hooper-who she’s found to be invaluable since she’d started working for her a year ago. Then she’d breezed into her office, red dispatch box swinging from her hand. 

 

Something had struck her as being out of place straight away. There had been a small, brown package on her desk, not in her in-tray either, but right slap bang in front of where she would usually be sat. 

 

“What’s that?” She’d nodded at it as Molly had helped slide her warm black coat off her shoulders, before she’d gone to place it on the peg stand in the corner. She’d missed the slight caress that the younger woman had given it. 

 

“Came in first thing. It says, ‘URGENT,’ on it, so I wanted to make sure that you saw it,” Molly had said as she’d turned back to her. She’d chewed upon her lip then, her eyes looking hopefully bright beneath her brown hair. “Was that the right thing to do?” Suddenly she’d been uncertain. 

 

“Yeah.” Amanda had still been intensely focused on the package. It didn't have its usual stamp on to say that it wasn’t a bomb or anything like that. But as soon as Molly had vacated after wittering on about what had already happened that morning, which wasn’t much, Amanda had sat down and opened it anyway. She was too curious not to. She’d tilted it and an USB stick and a note had clattered out from it. At the noise Amanda had jumped and looked up. She’d half-expected someone to crash inside her office, wondering what on earth she was doing. No one had come though. Her heart, for perhaps her body had already known back then that this could be nothing good, had done a little jump inside her chest. She’d glanced up again, before her fingers had fumbled for the note. 

 

 _‘This is the only copy. With much love from your favourite Raven.’_

 

Amanda had scrunched her face up. The dratted note made no sense to her and she’d grabbed rather decisively at the USB stick. Then hesitated. She hadn’t known what to expect and the note had been very cryptic after all. But sat there as she’d cradled the damn thing she’d just felt all the more self-conscious. If she didn't look at it then she’d just be thinking about it, and if she _did_ look at it then maybe that would be the issue over with and she could get on with other things. There didn't seem to be much choice in the matter. She’d switched on her computer. Startled a little as it had hummed into life. She’d been a moment away from inserting the USB stick, before yet again she’d delayed. What if it messed up the computer and she had to get the tech guys out? Suffer another Tuckering from Malcolm? She’d swallowed, before she’d shaken her head. She had to know what this was. Whoever had sent it to her had typed the address carefully in a bold font. Her name was on it. _Besides,_ she’d consoled herself, as her mind had wavered over the issue of Malcolm once more, it was unlikely her party would be in government much longer anyway. People were fed up of them and the Prime Minister was basically a useless man. Amanda liked to think that he’d just come in at the wrong time, but his best just wasn’t good enough. Whatever she did now could hardly pull them down any more. Her mess would just be a nice little welcoming gift for the opposition. She’d plugged the USB stick in then. Her computer had reacted at once. It had wheezed like it was going to be sick and Amanda had felt similarly hard done by. Finally the questioning box with about a million suggestions for what she might do had popped onto the screen. Amanda had opened up the folder. Her brow had furrowed when she’d seen the vast amount of sub-folders that had been inside of it. All of them were named after people in the Cabinet like her-her eyes stared at her own file uneasily-backbenchers and even people from other parties. Tentatively, but as she’d felt a mad pull inside her to do so, she’d clicked on the folder that had her name on it. Her frown had deepened when she’d seen a copy of her latest expenses form there. She’d scrolled down. There were older copies too. Most of it seemed to be in order, but part of it was circled in jet-black ink and she’d realized then that she’d appeared to have added the cost of a lunch that she’d bought on a train. She hadn’t intended to. It must have just slipped in there, whilst she’d been putting in everything else. She tried to be careful about things like that. She’d scrolled back and forth for a moment. She’d noticed that someone had done a tiny pencil sketch of a raven in the bottom corner of the final document. It had made a shiver run down her spine. 

 

She’d flicked back out of her folder and back to the main page of documents. Clicked on a name at random. Then another and another. Studied a few, drawn to those widening circles of black ink. Her heart had begun to fill with dread, as she’d slowly realized what was going on. She appeared to have copies of many MP’s expenses, but all of them had mistakes. Mistakes that were _far_ greater than her little train lunch. Some false claims related to elaborately furnished second homes. Other MP’s were paying for nannies out of their expenses. Some claiming back mortgage interest on a mortgage they had fully repaid already. Others evading tax or over-claiming for council tax on their second home. Some, like her, were more innocent, having merely added a few goods out of a mistake or an oversight to their expenses more than anything sinister Amanda was sure, but still, in that moment Amanda Lane knew that she was sitting on a bomb and she wasn’t happy about it. 

 

 _“Shit.”_ She’d pushed back from her desk and looked around, before she’d hastily pulled herself back to the computer once more and minimized the contents of the USB stick. There had been a vague voice in the back of her head, which told her that she shouldn't have plugged the USB in after all, and that she’d only made things worse, but it was nothing in comparison to the alarm bells that rung inside her. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” She’d stood up and felt momentarily better from the release that swearing had allowed her, before waves of nausea had rolled through her. She’d scraped her sweaty fringe back and gone to the door. She’d tried to keep an eye on Molly who was working diligently at the computer on her own desk as she’d opened it. Something about the sight of it had reassured her. It was just a normal day she’d thought.

 

She’d startled a little and very nearly shut it again as Harry, one of the office workers, had passed by her suddenly. He’d given her a bit of a curious look, green eyes puzzled, so she’d shot him a beaming smile in return. _“Hi.”_ He’d looked at her even more oddly at that. Deciding that she better get on with it, lest he question her, she’d called, “Molly? Could I have a quick word?” Harry had carried on his way, thank God.

 

Molly however had looked a little alarmed and fumbled for a moment at her desk, almost tripping up as she’d stood, before she’d recovered and brushed down her skirt in a dignified fashion. “Yes, okay.” She’d glanced at Amanda, white cheeks a little coloured. 

 

Amanda had carried on smiling falsely until the other woman had reached her. Then, like a Venus fly trap, she’d pulled her abruptly inside the office. “The thing is”-she’d closed the door-“Something’s come up. Don’t look worried. Try and smile, whilst I talk. I know that no one can see us in here, but that would really make me feel better.” It had sounded like the kind of thing a mad woman might say, but Molly had gone along with it anyway. Amanda had felt grateful for her and given her a tight smile of her own, before she’d gone back to her desk. She’d been half-bent as she’d rifled through some papers. Her orange stress ball was upon her desk and she’d picked that up instead and squeezed it, before she’d put it down again. “You don’t know who sent that package do you?” she’d asked. “The one that came in this morning?” Before Molly, who’d bitten at her lip again, could reply, Amanda had gone on, “Presumably it was sent by normal post and processed through normal channels, but it doesn’t have its usual stamp on. That’s why I thought that you might have seen someone handing it in? Reception can be slap dash at the best of times.” Molly had shaken her head at that and looked rather concerned. Amanda had let out a long, whistling sigh. “Right. In that case then I'm going to need you to be very discreet about this okay Molly?” Molly had stepped forward, as she’d nodded again, head lowered in a conspiratory fashion, eager as ever to please her. “Keep smiling. Just keep smiling,” Amanda had instructed her. Again Molly had nodded, trusting her strange methods. “I seem to have come across some rather… _awkward_ bits of information. Things that would make life difficult for several people if they got out. Including mine.” She’d given Molly a wonky sort of smile then and pleaded with her silently for her to try to be her escape route on this. “What I need you to do for me is to attempt, as discreetly as you can, to find someone who can give me advice on what to do now, _or,_ better still, take that information off my hands completely.” She’d said that last part without much thought, but known it to be true as soon as it had escaped her. That’s what she’d wanted. That’s what she’d wanted more than anything. 

 

“You want”- Molly had started pulling a pen and paper out of her pocket. 

 

“Legal advice yes,” Amanda had said through gritted teeth, as her heart had flared in panic. “For goodness sake don’t write this down Molly. I don’t want anything getting back to me.” 

 

“Oh right, yes.” Molly had hastily put her pen and paper back away again and looked to her boss for further instruction. 

 

“Just someone who sounds reliable and that we can trust,” Amanda had tried to press her point, but smile too. Molly had nodded. Amanda had attempted to be more reassuring, “I’ll owe you big time if you do this,” she’d grinned. She hadn’t noticed Molly’s flush at the words. 

 

*

 

Molly had gotten herself into a state of despair later that day as she’d tried to find someone who might be suitable to give Amanda advice when a phone call had come through on her mobile phone. It was a relief really to see that it was her boyfriend. Of course it was.

 

“Oh, Jim hi,” she’d said in a fluttery fashion as she’d locked her computer and swung away from her desk. She’d gone to huddle by one of the pillars in the building. She’d felt Amanda’s eyes on her back as she’d done so, but the other woman would just have to wait. Molly couldn't be everywhere. She felt so pressurized sometimes. Not just by work, but by the amount that she wanted to please both Amanda and Jim. 

 

“How’s my little hard worker? All righ’?” Jim had said. His Irish accent had floated through to her. He’d sounded jovial about something. 

 

“Not really,” Molly had confessed. She’d liked to have breezed through it and said that she was, but she always seemed to become more honest around Jim. It was somewhat of an annoying habit. 

 

“Oh darling, what’s wrong?” he’d purred, the epitome of concern and Molly’s floodgates had really opened then. 

 

“It’s about the thing that you told me to deliver this morning,” Molly had kept her voice deliberately low and her head ducked, as she’d nestled in her position. She hadn’t wanted anyone to hear her. _Especially_ Amanda. “There was something on it”-

 

“Oh no. Not a virus I hope?” he’d sounded worried on her behalf. 

 

“I don’t know.” Molly had felt more anxious then. “I’m not going to get into trouble am I?”

 

“Sweetheart no, of course you’re not. It was just some documents that I thought Amanda, as _our_ Foreign Secretary, might be interested in. Stuff about the war you know? I wish she could do more to stop them. You know how I loathe violence.” Molly knows that Jim, in his role as a journalist, is very conscientious. It had been due to his diligence that had led to them meeting actually. He’d wanted to do a story on what it was like for her as a working pathologist, which is what she used to be and hovered over her for a few days, whilst she’d done some work on the bodies. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” 

 

“Well, Amanda”-Molly had turned her back at that point, lest her boss be able to lip read from her spot by the door-“Amanda told me that I need to find someone trustworthy. She needs legal advice. Are you sure that?”-

 

“It’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about,” Jim had cut her off at that point. Molly had felt immediately chastised. She’d flinched. By her office door Amanda had frowned at the sight of the other woman’s body, which had jumped then. “I can sort that out darling.” He’d sounded lighter. Molly had wondered if she’d imagined his earlier anger. “I know just the man who will be able to sort out the little mess that you’ve gotten yourself into. I’ll tell him to get in touch with you as soon as I can.” Molly’s heart had sunk again. She’d supposed that it _was_ all her fault really. She’d left the package on Amanda’s desk, but Jim had _made_ her put it there in the first place. It was a little confusing. What he’d just told her and initially didn't seem to add up with what was going on. That opposing voice though had soon vanished when he’d added, “Does that sound good to you?” Jim was trying his best to help her. Why was she being so mean to him? She should really try harder. No wonder she couldn't do anything right. 

 

“Yes,” she’d said as quickly as she could, breathless, but she’d known if she didn't that she’d just get herself into even more trouble. Jim hated to be kept waiting. 

 

“Good. Love you darling. Bye.” 

 

“Love you too.” Molly had come off the phone a moment later. She’d stared down at it for a moment, deep in thought, and wondered about what she’d just said. _Did_ she love him or was he just someone who had made her feel less lonely? Someone to talk to. Watch TV with. She’d been flattered by the attention that he’d given her when he’d watched her. He’d been so keen to learn about her and her life. Her _work._ Was it love though? Suddenly Molly wasn’t so sure. 

 

*

 

“You did _what?”_ Amanda had exclaimed when Molly had told her about how Jim had managed to find someone for them. “I told you to be discreet about this Molly. Did you tell your fucking mother too?” Amanda had swiped a hand across a load of paperwork on her desk as she’d stood there. 

 

Molly had felt close to tears then. Especially at the use of Amanda’s swear word. She’d suspected that the other woman swore a lot in her head-you probably would with her job, that’s what she’d once told Jim-but she hardly ever let it come out of her, so this must be really bad and Molly wasn’t sure who she’d let down the most-her boyfriend or her boss-but she knew that she’d caused them both pain and that hurt her. Her confusion though with everything had made her feel a bit angry too. “Listen, I know that perhaps it wasn’t the way you wanted me to go about it, but I tried your route and it wasn’t working. Jim just wanted to help. Like I did. Anyway, I found you someone okay? I'm under pressure too. It wasn’t easy and you could at least be glad that I managed it instead of shouting at me.”

 

Amanda had raised an eyebrow at her. It was rare that Molly answered back to her and she felt a bit cross about it. “You have no idea about the amount of pressure _I'm_ under right now,” she’d tried to underline the fact. 

 

Molly had wanted to say to her that it didn't have to be that way, that Amanda could at least open up to her like she had about the other thing, which she was sure had made them both feel happier, but one look at her boss’ dark gaze had made her say, “Sorry,” at once. 

 

Something had softened inside the older woman at that. “It’s all right. I'm sorry too. It’s just when crap like this happens y’know”-she’d waved a hand at the computer then and tried to smile despite the force that was burrowing a home inside her brain like a dormouse being prevented from hibernating. Molly had nodded. “So this man that you found?” She’d tried to be more enthusiastic. 

 

“John Wick yeah. He’s a former SAS officer and now the owner of a London based risk management company. I spoke to him after-after Jim did and he said that he’ll do his best to help you with whatever it is.” Molly had looked at Amanda hopefully then like a dog waiting to be praised. Amanda had tossed her head back in a considering fashion. “I could go and”-

 

 _“No._ I think if you leave his contact details with me then I can decide if I want to be the one to meet him, but if I do so then it’ll be away from here. Thanks again Molly.” Amanda had looked down at her desk and fingered at some paperwork in a dismissive fashion. 

 

Molly’s heart had sunk at the idea that Amanda couldn't even trust her to go out and do something important on her behalf any more. She’d felt a flare of anger with Jim and known that she would most definitely go home and pick a fight with him. 

 

*

 

Amanda had called John Wick later that day and explained that she had some information, _well,_ a lot of information really, that if it got out would be explosive. She didn't dare say _exactly_ what it was on the phone though, just in case they were being snooped upon-she’d chanced using her personal mobile instead of a secure line, which she didn't trust-but at John’s urging for a rating she’d said that it was a twelve out of ten. She wasn’t sure if he’d understood and that had made her wonder if she should not meet him in a café in two days time like he’d suggested they did after all, but in the end she’d agreed that she would. It might be her only chance to get rid of it. The feeling of doing such a thing made an odd combination of nausea and relief flow through her stomach. It would be good in one sense to pass the information on. To not have to be the one to deal with it any more, but part of her-the good fragment that was left inside her heart and the one that sometimes made her dwell upon silly hopes-told her quite stubbornly that she should not be passing it on at all. That she should be finding the strength inside-or whatever the hell it was that she needed-to deal with it herself. After all she could destroy the USB _without_ Wick’s help. Burn it. Throw it in the Thames and hope that it would never see the light of day again. Or even make _sure_ that, that’s exactly what it saw. Take a stand. Say that some of the things that have been going on are wrong. After all even if she got rid of it then whoever had sent it would still know where to get the information from. Still know where to look. That’s even if this _was_ the only copy. She only had the word of the Raven-whoever the fuck that was to back it up. She could do it, but she didn't have enough courage to. To blow a hole in her own world that would be that big. To be cut off from colleagues and probably sacked. To have public respect for a while, before it would no doubt be diminished once more like the flame in a candle. She’d fingered the USB stick as she’d sat on her scruffy brown armchair at home. It was too big for her, that was the thought that she’d admitted to herself late that night, whilst she’d felt like the fabric of the chair might have swallowed her up entirely. 

 

*

 

The café had been close enough to Westminster to still have made Amanda’s heart beat uncomfortably loud as she’d walked quickly to it, but it was far enough away for her to feel a little reassured that no one would spot her there. Only Molly knew where she was. She’d explained in a low breath to John what the USB contained. She’d been a little afraid that he’d no longer want anything to do with it, that like her his first instinct would be to get rid of it and never say anything about it ever again.

 

“Obviously,” she’d tried to urge him to take the dratted thing off her own hands and lessen her own guilt at the same time, “It would be difficult and put me in an awkward position if _I_ tried to do anything with it.” 

 

She’d sensed that John had seen through her, but she’d stressed when he’d asked what price she wanted it for that he could have it for nothing. She didn't want his dirty money. She didn't want anyone to see them in the café and for all this to be linked back to her. She’d just wanted it off her hands. Thankfully he’d taken it. 

 

Her heart had jumped every time she’d seen the newspapers in the days that followed-convinced that what she’d helped put in the hands of John Wick would be splashed all over them, or even worse that a questioning photo of herself in the café with the man himself would surface. Thankfully neither did. 

 

That is until the 8th of May when both do and all hell breaks loose. 

 

*

 

In the present, Mycroft Holmes-a man with thinning auburn hair, stormy blue eyes who is in his late-thirties and has an unfortunate habit of having too many bad days-has found that regrettably dealing with the Prime Minister and all the other officials in his job as consultant and notorious fact-checker within all the departments means often coming into contact with the sweary, blustery Malcolm Tucker.

 

When he’d first encountered the man, Malcolm had deemed it fit to yell from the other end of the corridor, “Oi! Three-piece. Do you wear a waistcoat to keep your fat in? Well, it’s not working. If we ever need to find you then we’ll know what to do. Just follow the trail of fucking buttons.” He’d then accosted him and sent Mycroft’s assistant Anthea away as he’d done so. Mycroft hadn’t enjoyed that meeting and he’s not exactly looking forward to today’s one. 

 

He walks into the man’s office with some trepidation, gearing himself up and putting his umbrella against the wall. He almost winces as the other man gets up with the force of a tidal wave. It’s surprising really for someone so scrawny to have such an effect. Today Malcolm is in a plain grey suit-Mycroft’s own is pinstripe. Malcolm almost sends his can of Red Bull across all the paperwork and a random tangerine on his desk as he causes all his chaos. 

 

“Drinking Red Bull and wanting to decapitate someone with my tangerine, before it’s even eight in the fucking morning. That’s what your fucking girlfriend’s done to me. Can’t you control her? Every other breath that you say to her should be, ‘We don’t need another disaster. The other ministers are managing that fine, thank you Amanda.’ Even if you’re in bed with her at the time. _Especially_ if you’re in bed with her. Right?” Malcolm points a wintry finger at Mycroft now. 

 

Mycroft tries not to allow himself to notice the way that Malcolm always manages to look annoyingly stick-insect thin compared to him and combs a hand back through his hair. He lets out a beleaguered kind of sigh, before he forces himself to say, “We’re not together any more. We haven’t been together for around six months.” He says all this rather in a robotic monotone, as if it doesn’t mater any more, even though of course it does. Seeing Amanda splashed everywhere this morning had made him retreat even more inside himself and become more introspective, as he’d wondered what he should do about it all, if anything. 

 

“Yeah, six months, twenty-one days and thirty bloody seconds,” Malcolm scoffs. Mycroft cringes. “Don’t pretend you don’t know the exact figure. Even I do because I’ve had to deal with you moping about ever since.”

 

Mycroft flushes. “Even if we _were_ still together then you know very well by now that Amanda has got her own mind. If she’d decided something then I wouldn't have been able to persuade”-

 

 _“Decided_ something?” Malcolm points now. “Listen, the only thing that she decided was to cover her own arse. She just didn't do a good job at it and now us fools have been left here to deal with it all.”

 

“What do you mean?” Mycroft can feel himself growing tenser. 

 

“I mean that the PM wants to see us about this diabolical mess and if he wants to get rid of Amanda or demote her then you’re going to be the one to tell her.”

 

_“I”-_

 

“Or I’ll shove that umbrella where the sun don’t shine.” 

 

Mycroft swallows uncomfortably, but Malcolm’s glare and razor sharp finger don’t give him room for any disagreement. “Yes. Of course I will be,” he relents. 

 

* 

 

If Amanda’s head is a treadmill then currently there’s a big fat man on it, pushing against every surface and making her wish that he would just turn the damn thing off. 

 

She’s been tucked inside her office all morning, trying to be discreet like a stain on a handkerchief. She’s told Molly to deal with all calls-a task that is far too big for her alone such is the large amount of them that are coming in, but Amanda cares very little in that moment. She’s barely done any work. Even her e-mails had quickly been dismissed when a notable amount of them had been press queries. Her biggest task has been popping two paracetamol inside her mouth and burying her head in her hands as she’d wished over and over that she could start the day once more. Heck perhaps start the last half a _month_ again. She should have known that she’d be seen in that café, and although the photos are only dodgy, grainy phone ones whoever had taken them had done a decent enough job to catch the exact moment that the handover had taken place. She should have known too that John Wick, who had asked her how much she wanted for the documents for the love of God would sell them on and that the press would be able to identify him and thus link the two of them together for all of sodding eternity. The office is practically in lockdown now. All because of her. 

 

There comes a nervous knock on the door. Amanda looks up and Molly enters the room a moment later. Amanda feels suddenly grateful for her. 

 

“I feel like I'm going to die,” she confesses, a smile that’s half-wry upon her lips. She feels like she can tell Molly this. She hadn’t told anyone what she’d revealed to her before after all. Absent-mindedly her hand scratches at her blouse. 

 

Molly’s mouth twitches apprehensively, as she doesn’t know how to respond. Deciding to get straight to the point she says, “Um, Mycroft’s here.”

 

 _“What?”_ Those words alone are enough to make Amanda’s hand jerk away from her blouse and rise from her desk. 

 

“Yes.” Molly looks anxious now. “I tried to get rid of him. I know you said no visitors, but he’s quite insistent. He said something about the ‘Prime Minister.’” She _mouths_ the words ‘Prime Minister’ and looks all the more terrified about what this might mean for her as well as Amanda. Jim had told her that everything would be all right, that nothing bad would ever happen to her, but now she’s not so sure. If Amanda loses her job then she’ll lose hers. 

 

Amanda’s stomach does a funny flip now and she swallows, but before she can get her static like brain to focus on just how they can best get rid of Mycroft-set off the fire alarm perhaps?-he himself is striding into the office, grey pinstripe suit on and a couple of hairs out of place-a tell tale sign that his day is already not going well and she doesn’t need to be told what the cause of this one is. It’s obvious. _Her_ again. 

 

He barely gives her a cursory glance though, before his attention goes to Molly. “Thank you, but you can go now.” 

 

 _“I”-_ Molly looks to Amanda for guidance. Her boss just offers her a helpless sort of shrug. 

 

“You can go now,” Mycroft repeats, before he steers her out of there with one firm hand and closes the door behind her. 

 

Amanda, who had not liked the display of male chauvinism that he’d put on just now, stares at him out of dark, hooded eyes, as she folds her arms. “Come to gloat have you? About how the mighty have fallen?” 

 

He observes her for a moment out of those annoying semi-translucent eyes of his. “Well, it’s quite a pickle you’ve got us in I must say. Data exploding left and right.” He waves his large hands. “You might as well have had a button to make all the government departments blow up at once and take everyone down with them.” He finally looks away from her and brings up a hand, so that he can inspect a fingernail with a forced casualness. He finds looking at her rather hard. It does something funny to his chest. In normal circumstances it would be difficult, but with what he has to do _now-_

 

“Yes, I know what I did.” She’s frustrated with him. “Why are you even _here_ Mycroft?” 

 

His gaze returns to her now and he lowers his hand. “The Prime Minister”- he begins delicately. 

 

So Molly had been right after all. Amanda feels like she might throw up. “He sent _you?”_ she says to relieve some of her tension, to try and distract her mind for a moment from what’s taking place. “I can’t believe that he sent you to tell me that _I'm_ the one who’s about to be sacked. He knows that we were together. Insensitive wart.” 

 

“Not sacked no,” Mycroft says, ignoring her last comment, “Although he’s hardly keen to see you at the present moment, as I'm sure you can understand.” He smiles at her. She doesn’t return it. His eyes flicker back to darkness instead, as he lets out a little harrumph and moves close enough to swipe up the remote from her desk. He uses it to switch on the TV. 

 

The BBC News channel flares into being and Amanda sees underneath the breaking news banner the dreaded words: ‘FOREIGN SECRETARY AMANDA LANE DEMOTED TO BECOME SECRETARY OF STATE AT THE DEPARTMENT OF SOCIAL AFFAIRS AND CITIZENSHIP.’ It moves quickly onto the next thing. Her ruinous career compartmentalized in one sentence. 

 

 _“DoSAC?”_ she exclaims as Mycroft mutes the channel now. “You’re moving me to fucking _DoSAC?”_

 

“Not me you understand. The Prime Minister.” There’s this odd little expression on his face now, as if he doesn’t know what level of calm he should resonate, what frown he should display. Amanda doesn’t much care for his minor problems. “I assure you that I take no”- he raises his hands like he’s pleading her to be calm about this. 

 

“Happiness from seeing me get demoted?” she finishes off for him. “Of course you fucking do!” Mycroft looks anxiously at the office door, as if the swearing police might burst in and arrest Amanda for her raised tone and foul language at once. “Did you even _try”-_ Amanda jabs her finger downwards-“To fight for me? To let me keep my role? Did you even say, ‘Prime Minister with all due respect I believe that you should let Amanda keep her job as Foreign Secretary?’ Did you even try that Mycroft?”

 

 _“No.”_ Mycroft feels cross now. “But to say that, that’s what I should have said and that I should have fought for you is most unfair Mandy and to say I didn't try when”-

 

“Don’t call me that.” Amanda’s body grows taut. “You don’t like your name being shortened and neither do I.” She’s annoyed with him, but more than that she’s fuming with herself for getting in this situation in the first place and for taking out all her anger on him just like she’d done when they used to be together. 

 

“Amanda then,” he relents, folding his arms. He has little time for Amanda’s silly name preferences now. 

 

“Why is it unfair?” she asks, curious. 

 

“We’re not even together any more. In the six months whenever you’ve seen me since you’ve barely said a word that couldn't be construed as professional. That’s when you weren’t running away from me.” Amanda scowls. “You made it quite clear to me that you didn't want me to be fighting your battles when we _were_ a couple”-

 

“You said yourself you couldn't. It would have just made things worse for everyone.”

 

“To say that I should be fighting them now is most”-

 

“You’re glad that this has happened.” Amanda loses her cool. “Admit it! This is my punishment!” Her eyes are flared wide, mouth gaped in a pant. “I’ll probably never come back from this! You know that! DoSAC is my purgatory. If I'm a good girl and do what Malcolm, you and the fucking PM want then maybe I’ll get to go on to do a better job. If I'm lucky. If I don’t then I’ll be stuck on the scrap heap of DoSAC for all of eternity and you couldn't even give a damn!” 

 

“I assure you that”- Mycroft is astonished. 

 

“This is you punishing me because I said that you weren’t doing enough. That you weren’t getting your hands dirty. Well, now you are. Congratulations, you get to demote me. It must feel like Christmas Day to you. Oh sorry, it mustn't because you always work on Christmas.” She waves her hands. Eyes fall down to her desk. 

 

“I'm not the only one who always works on Christmas Day and this is not me punishing you for anything,” Mycroft says in an affronted fashion now. “This has very little to do with me and I would have been quite happy to stay out of it.” Amanda mumbles something retaliatory underneath her breath. Mycroft takes a step forwards, hands back down by his sides again. It’s his turn for his finger to jab towards the floor. “This is you being punished-well you know what you’re being punished for. Neither of us have to go over that again,” he says, before he does such a thing anyway. “For all of the disruption that you’ve caused and for letting such a wealth of confidential information get out.” His tone is stern, eyes dark and Amanda knows that he’s wanted to speak to her this angrily for some time. That its built up inside him just like it has inside her. She sees a flash of that one night for a moment, hears herself getting more and more frustrated, sees oddly uncertain blue eyes in front of her, before they fade again and he’s just there in front of her now. His eyes angry. 

 

“I never meant”- she feels chastised, both bothered by what is going on now and by the memory of their past history with one another. 

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Mycroft looks pained now. Perhaps he is remembering too? “For the record it was Malcolm who had the idea of me being the one to tell you. Not the Prime Minister. Wouldn't want you losing your cool with him now would we? As for Malcolm it seemed to be his idea of a joke.” 

 

 _“Malcolm?_ What’s his take on all this?” Amanda’s both a little nervous and curious now. 

 

Suddenly the door slams open like it’s a Western and it’s as if she’s summoned him just by asking that very question, for there he is: Malcolm Tucker. Green-blue eyes deep with fury, grey hair seemingly all the more spiky and harsh, all six foot of him quivering with anger. Amanda can see Molly, all clasped hands and worried eyes, face slightly flushed, as she bounces in behind him. Amanda gestures that she should leave them to it. 

 

“Yeah, fuck off Goldilocks.” Malcolm notes Amanda’s gesture. “Go get me some porridge and make sure it’s a good brand. I'm fucking ravenous.” Malcolm turns to her now, before he looks back at Amanda. Baring his teeth he utters, “Currently I’ll just have to make do with you.” 

 

Molly scurries away, before any more of his rough, venomous words can find her. Amanda thinks that if she’s got any sense then she’ll book the first plane out of there or at the very least be two blocks away when Malcolm detonates the place. 

 

The door closes, trapping Mycroft, who’s looking distinctly uncomfortable, and Amanda in there with the fire-breathing dragon. Amanda swallows. Malcolm’s eyes fix on her with their laser beam focus. Amanda almost sinks back down into her chair again, but just about manages to hold onto a sort of faltering standing position. She will not be cowed by him. 

 

“Sit down,” Malcolm growls, ordering her. Swallowing Amanda does just that, obeying at once. So much for not being cowed. “No, stand up.” He changes his mind. “I want to take pleasure from you wilting beneath me.” A spark fills Malcolm’s eyes now. 

 

Amanda opens her mouth at the same time that Mycroft says, _“Malcolm,”_ in a tired, serious tone. 

 

Malcolm waves a hand at him. “No, stay where you are and drop the gentlemanly act. I don’t have time for it.” His phone buzzes inside his pocket. With a clawed hand he slowly takes it out as he says, “See? This is what you’ve done. Ever since you forgot the _‘Foreign’_ in your role as ‘Foreign Secretary,’ and decided to take it upon yourself to look more closely at home affairs it’s like my phone’s had fucking epilepsy. Do you see this?” He gestures at his still buzzing phone now, which is vibrating like it’s a worm trying to escape the confines of Malcolm’s clutches. Amanda feels in a similar position herself. “Do you see what you’ve fucking done?” On his last word he throws it at her. Amanda lets out a shriek and leans back, raising her hands to protect her face. The phone bounces off her elbow and lands with a clatter upon her desk. “Well, do you?” Malcolm’s eyebrows are working overtime. 

 

Mycroft takes a step forward now. Looks between them. His gaze falls on Amanda. “Are you”- By the movement of his body you might have thought that he was about to place himself in between them. 

 

“I said to stop it with all the gentlemanly crap.”

 

“I don’t hit women Malcolm.” There’s a distinct edge to Mycroft’s tone. 

 

Malcolm waves his hands. “Neither do I. I dropped hold of my phone, it’s a slippery wee bugger and she just happened to be in the way.” Mycroft rolls his eyes, not convinced by such words. Still, Malcolm’s body juts past Mycroft’s, as a still in shock Amanda gingerly lowers her hands. Malcolm nods at his phone, which has now stopped making a racket. “That’s probably another poor sod from one of the other departments by the way ringing to see what can be done about your massive cock up. Did you not think”-Malcolm, full stride now, comes even closer-“That instead of passing this information on to some bit of Army low-life who we have no actual fucking clue about it might have been best to inform your superiors about this? Even your fucking boyfriend here? What you’ve just done is basically data smuggling”-

 

“I didn't have any pay from it and we’re not”- Amanda half-glances at Mycroft now. He’s wearing a completely neutral expression upon his face, hiding his chipped armour. 

 

“Save me the fucking romance novel sweetheart.” Malcolm draws Amanda’s attention back to him once more. “I don’t have time to read chapter two hundred and whatever it is in the saga of ‘I don’t give a fuck.’ I don’t have time for that.” Malcolm’s phone buzzes again. “I don’t even have time to tell you to fuck off to DoSAC right now and please try to cause me less hassle there. That is how busy I am right now. That is the size of the shit that you decided to take on all of our desks this morning.” Malcolm’s all up in her face now, pointing with a remarkably still finger, as if he’s a wasp that’s about to sting her. 

 

She swallows, but somehow still manages to say, “Malcolm, I don’t want to go to DoSAC. I want to speak to the Prime Minister myself about all this.” 

 

“Well, we don’t all get what we want, do we sweetheart?” He looks at her knowingly now, before he decides to change tack once more. “It’s too late for that.” Malcolm swipes his phone up from the desk and ceases its racket with one deft finger. “Anyway, since you’re so concerned about being a moral stalwart, since that is seemingly so important to you right now though I can’t spot any difference between you and all the other fuck-up’s around here, the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship should be the perfect place for you now shouldn't it?” He looks sour. “Face it.” He looks her dead in the eye. “I don’t want to see you. The Prime Minister doesn’t want to see you. And he _definitely_ doesn’t want to see you.” He jerks his thumb behind his shoulder at Mycroft. “He descends into a gooey puddle every time he lays his eyes on you.” Amanda glances at Mycroft. He looks flushed, humiliated. Won’t even look at her. She feels something quicken inside of her in spite of herself. “You’re going to DoSAC,” Malcolm informs her grimly now. “The minister there has already had to resign because of all your nonsense due to his second home even though it’s only the size of a large grapefruit, so you’re going to save me the time of finding someone else and go there yourself.” Malcolm is gone in the next moment, and, after giving her a sort of dejected look, so too is Mycroft. 

 

“I'm taking Molly with me!” she calls after them pettily, before the door can shut. By her desk Molly startles. 

 

Malcolm pops his head back around in the next minute. “Take your whole collection of fucking non-existent hair clips that you don’t use with you. I don’t give a fuck.” With that he’s gone, leaving Amanda feeling like an earthquake has just occurred beneath her. 

 

*

 

For Terri Coverly its been quite the morning in her role as Director of Communications at DoSAC. She’d expected it to be a little bit busier because they had a new recruit to show around-John Watson-who’d arrived with the aid of a crutch. He’d been in Afghanistan helping the war effort, before he’d gotten himself blown up and flown back home again. Terri couldn't tell if it was a deliberate plan or not, but it seemed like something she would do if she were in the same situation so she’d assumed that it had been intentional on his part. John was a doctor typically, but then had been unable to find anything suitable since he’d come back home again. He’d said all this as they’d navigated the stairs with one another. He’d started to get a little desperate and apply for anything and everything he’d said. An old friend of his-Mike Stamford-had heard about the Senior Press Officer role at DoSAC that was going and managed to convince him that it would be worth him trying for it since John was both good at giving and taking orders. 

 

Terri had found him funny then and smiled at him. “Oh no,” she’d said when a breathless John had nearly made it to the top of the stairs-she’d enjoyed looming over him-“You won’t be doing that role.”

 

 _“What?”_ John had looked confused. 

 

“Yes,” Terri had said with the air of dropping a bombshell, “They decided that I would be quite fine as I was. Personally I suspect budget cuts, but there we go. No, you’ll be doing the ‘Junior Policy Advisor to the Secretary of State’ role I'm afraid. We had a boy called Ollie doing it, but he decided to twat off to some other department. Apparently we weren’t good enough for him.” She’d sniffed. 

 

“But I don’t know anything _about_ policy,” John had protested, as he’d finally made it to the top of the stairs. 

 

“Neither does anyone else around here. You’ll get used to it,” Terri had got some satisfaction from saying that, before she’d turned around triumphantly. 

 

There had been the navigation of calls to handle around the MP’s expenses scandal, the shock resignation of Hugh Abbot who hadn’t even bothered to show his face that day, a nice tea break full of speculation about who would be taking over the role-John was already fitting in splendidly in Terri’s opinion what with all his funny comments, though he wasn’t a patch on Peter Mannion in her mind. There was something about that aged, rugged man that found all her buttons even if he _was_ in the opposition-before it had been revealed to her that Amanda Lane of all people would be filling in the gap and she had to release a press statement. Terri had also had another round of calls to deal with at that point, but one had been rudely interrupted by Malcolm Tucker who had strode into the department and fired Glenn Cullen. He’d made to go out again. 

 

“Excuse me? You can’t do that. I'm a valuable member of this team.” Glenn had stood up in an appalled fashion from his desk. 

 

“The dead fucking plant that’s on my desk is more precious than you. Leave now.” Malcolm had swung around once more, as he’d delivered that blow. John had goggled at the scene, as had everyone else. “Take it up with your new Secretary of State if you have a problem with it.” Malcolm had taken on a sort of rigid calm like a snake at that point. “She wants to bring someone from her team over. There’s no room for you all. Pack up your things and go.”

 

Terri hadn’t felt sorry for Glenn. He was like a walking vinyl record in an MP3 world. It was about time that he went, but she insisted on letting herself have another tea break to mark the occasion anyway, whilst Glenn packed his things up. 

 

“Thanks for your help Terri,” he’d told her sarcastically just before he’d gone. 

 

She’d waved his chocolate bourbon at him. “Bye Glenn.” 

 

John had been slightly startled by the sudden sacking and made his feelings known. That had led onto a long grumbling session between them and a few others in the department about how the ministers just expect everything to fit in around them.

 

“I mean I don’t know much about this Amanda. She could be a perfectly nice woman,” Terri says, as if she very much doubts it, “But then why did she have to get Malcolm to fire Glenn? She could have told him herself.” She dunks another chocolate biscuit into her cup now. “I suppose he would have been the obvious choice though. It would have been a toss up between you two and I suppose you couldn't get fired on your first day. That would have been too harsh. Even for Malcolm.” She wags the chocolate biscuit at John now. “But if these ministers really wanted to play fair then they would have taken the chance to get to know the pair of you, and all of your strengths and weaknesses, before they’d fired one of you.”

 

“Mmm,” John mumbles, slouched back in his chair now and flicking through something on his phone. Terri stares at him. She doesn’t care much of course, but she’d spent a lot of effort on that speech and it would have been nice to have it properly listened to. She’s sure that Peter would have made for a much better audience. She has a little dream about him. “Here, take a look at this.” Terri takes more of an interest as John slides his chair around to hers. He waves his phone at her. She sees that he’s brought up an old interview with Amanda Lane on YouTube that had occurred as part of the _‘Getting to Know Politicians’_ campaign. It had made Terri sick-all that arrogance bursting through a small screen. The video won’t play properly on John’s phone though, probably because the politicians are too big headed to fit on John’s data plan. It looks like Amanda’s being decapitated. So they play it on his computer instead, listening to it on an unashamedly high volume since Terri assures John that no one in the office will care what they’re doing.

 

“Amanda, it’s nice to see you,” the warm, blonde interviewer murmurs in the small, dark space that they’re both enclosed in, “We’ll start off with a nice easy one.” Amanda mouths, _‘Oh right.’_ “What did you want to be when you grew up? Try not to say that you wanted to be an MP like one or two of the others we've had on did.” There’s a tittering laugh now. 

 

Amanda looks awkward, but corrects herself as the camera focuses fully back on her. “When I grew up I wanted to be a swan,” she finally manages to announce. The interviewer looks delighted now. Amanda looks like the whole of her face might turn crimson. 

 

“A _swan?”_ the interviewer exclaims. 

 

“Yeah.” Amanda plucks at her hair nervously, before she stops herself. Her back straightens. “You see I was average at school. It fitted me like a hand me down from siblings that I never had. I was the one who hit the ball well in a game of rounders when the teacher wasn’t looking.” The interviewer laughs again. Amanda looks relieved. “I had a beautiful mother- _Lacy…”_ her voice turns soft now. 

 

“Didn't realize she was Welsh,” says Terri, “You can hear the slight accent of it sometimes coming through on certain words, can’t you?”

 

“Mm,” John mumbles in agreement, focused on the video. 

 

“Model like looks y’know?” Amanda is saying now, swiping at her hair. “All gleaming, long tresses of black hair, much sleeker than mine.” She looks thoughtful. “She always seemed to be in a pose, seemed to have this big flashing smile…” It sounds to John as if Amanda’s mother was the sort of woman who Amanda would dislike on principal if she bumped into her on the street. Senses that her feelings are complicated and vast. 

 

“So you wanted to be a swan because of your mother?” the interviewer asks her perceptively. 

 

“Mmmhmm.” Amanda nods. There is something very childlike about her suddenly. Something unsure. She bites-no _chews-_ upon her lip. “I thought it would just happen to me one day,” she says now about how she’s been trying to run, or maybe fly towards that one moment. “That I’d just transform and from that point forwards everything would be all right. I’d know what to do. I’d have all the answers. I did not expect to keep my scruffy hair”-she touches at it-“Or that my ability to match colours well together would never extend into me being able to wear pretty clothes with ease. I never expected to be a part-time smoker in a world dominated by men. But that’s what I am.” 

 

 _“Naughty!_ You smoking,” the interviewer says, as if Amanda’s the very height of rebellion.

 

“Yeah.” Amanda looks awkward again. Her hands fidget. 

 

There’s a little pause for a moment. Then the interviewer asks, “Am I right in thinking that both your parents have passed away now?”

 

“Yeah. My dad Stuart first when I was twenty-two. He died at the age of fifty-nine. Heart attack on his way home from work. I’ve always said that if that ever happened to me then I’d want it to happen on the way _in_ to work.” That gets yet another laugh from the interviewer. 

 

“I think we can all agree with that,” John murmurs. Terri nods. That’s a policy that she can _definitely_ get behind. 

 

“But you still had your mother?” the interviewer says, trying to be kind now. 

 

“Only for six months after that,” Amanda says with a quiet grimace. “Officially she died of natural causes as she slept. Her hair was all fanned out against the pillow. I’ve often”-the emotion on her face looks like it might break for a moment, a crashing dam-“Anyway, I sent the police around there when I couldn't get in touch with her one day. I would have gone there myself, but I was”- _scared,_ she can’t say it-“They found her. It’s my belief that she died of a broken heart.” 

 

“You sound surprised,” the interviewer picks up on. 

 

“Well, yeah, I mean I always knew that my parents loved one another. I was lucky I guess, in that sense. But they met in music collage and my mum ended up becoming more successful than my father ever did. She was a backing singer for a while and then became a music teacher. He ended up doing accounts for a haulage company. There was always this sort of resentment between them. He actually banned a video of Mum’s most successful gig- _‘Top of the Pops’-_ from the house.” The interviewer opens her mouth wide now, as if she can’t believe such a thing. “It was only when she died that I realized”-Amanda’s voice grows stronger now-“I realized that despite his complaints she really loved him. Not in a superficial way either. A deep one. It struck me and that feeling’s never really left me. It made me less naïve I think. Rather than getting lost in a fog of grief it was like I woke up.”

 

*

 

Amanda roots through her maroon handbag and pushes past general junk such as folder clips, red elastic bands, hand wash, actual handkerchiefs rather than paper ones, her black lighter, small pack of low tar cigarettes [two items, which she thinks that she’ll be in dire need of later that day] her phone, flat keys, building pass and little black book of contacts to make a space for a photo of her parents. They’re in a folding frame, one on either side, and she usually keeps such a thing on her desk, but she’s moving now. Turning around in satisfaction after closing her bag she lobs her orange stress ball on top of the box full of other junk that sits on her desk and feels as if she’s good to go. 

 

As if sensing such a thing Molly bursts in at that moment. “Anything I can help you with?” She tries to look cheery now, but Amanda and her both know that nothing will make either of them happy that day. 

 

“If you can just take that box?” Amanda nods at it. She looks around what is now more of a desolate space than her office distractedly. 

 

“Odd isn’t it?” Molly catches her. 

 

 _“Yeah,”_ Amanda contemplates, “One year of work for”- she doesn’t want to say _‘nothing,’_ but that’s sort of what it feels like. Instead she shakes herself out of her stupor, grabs her bag and heads for the door. At the last moment she looks back. “Is my hair all right?” She brushes at it a little anxiously. “Want to make a good impression.” She forces an awkward smile upon her face. “Though I suppose it doesn’t matter after what’s come out today.”

 

“It will be all right Mandy,” Molly reassures her. “Though I do wish you’d told me.” Amanda looks at her strangely now. “About the situation. How big it all was.” Molly flaps her hands a little. “I mean I probably wouldn't have been able to do anything about it, but”- she breaks off, her guilt about being the one who’d put that information in front of Amanda in the first place eating her up. She’s already had a phone argument with Jim about it. No doubt they’ll argue again when she gets home. 

 

“Sorry. I think I probably should have told a lot of people.” Amanda grimaces at the other woman. 

 

*

 

“What made you get into politics in the first place then?” Terri and John continue to watch the interview with Amanda. 

 

 _“Well,”_ Amanda begins with some trepidation in her tone and John can tell that she’s considering every word with care, “At the time my mum died I’d been working at the Welsh Assembly government office in Cardiff following an MP around. If I'm honest”-she shifts about a little awkwardly now-“I’d already started to think that I could do a better job from watching other people and seeing the state the place was in.” They don’t realize how she’s not mentioning that she was initially shocked by the language and crude imagery that she’d heard, _or_ the fact that now she’d find it more strange if people _actually_ respected one another and came into work all happy. Instead they just see the way that she lets out a bit of a nervous laugh, as if she’s not quite sure whether her words will be accepted. The interviewer smiles encouragingly. “That was the start of it really. My first step into that world.”

 

*

 

A flash hits Amanda’s eyes. She’s rather glad that she has to wear a neutral expression for her new building pass photo. She doesn’t think that she could manage anything else today. A single tear from the effect of the camera rolls down her cheek now, snaking its way down her light make-up. 

 

Brushing it away hurriedly with one hand she moves away from the photo area in the DoSAC building, which smells oddly of coleslaw, and waits for her new pass to be ready. As soon as it is she stares down at it for a moment, taking in the fact that she looks more serious than she’d ever imagined she would. 

 

“Amanda? We better go meet everyone,” Molly says, formal with regards to her name once more and Amanda finds herself wishing that Molly would call her, _‘Mandy,’_ again. It’s what her father had used to call her and she could do with some reassurance right now. 

 

“Yeah. Come on.” She gathers herself together now, slings the pass around her neck, spends a moment adjusting it and moves towards the stairs. Her heart thumps. Stomach churns. She thinks that she might release the breakfast she hasn’t had when she hears a scrambling sound and looks down to see Malcolm running like a penguin with its arse on fire across the ground floor towards them. He points a finger at her now and she knows that it means she’s to wait there. “Why did he have to come here _too?”_ she asks in an undertone to Molly. Her assistant shrugs. She frowns. She knows that she’d sounded whiny, but Molly could have at least answered her properly. 

 

“I'm going to introduce you,” Malcolm says, as he reaches them, only a little short of breath now. He takes pleasure from the fact that he can now look down at Amanda. “Make sure that there aren't any more hiccups today. Actually, what you did was a great big fucking burp wasn’t it? Or like a very loud sneeze that gets all passed around.” Amanda accepts as he looks at her now that Malcolm’s sole purpose for being there is to torture her. He smirks at her, as if he’s just read her mind, before he begins to move further upstairs again. Beginning to wish that she _were_ carrying her box of things instead of Molly, so that she could throw it at him, Amanda follows him. Once Malcolm reaches the top he looks back down at her. Amanda’s hand tightens around the banister. “Oh yes, wanted to also tell you that the police will be around here later for a little chat”-Amanda’s stomach swoops-“So you better get your story straight in your head if you haven’t done so already.”

 

“They’re going to be investigating me?” Amanda says, before he can quite turn back around again. 

 

He lets out a bit of an impatient sigh now, his hand sliding against the banister, before he looks at her once more. “What do you think? The biggest leak in modern history and you’re right at the heart of the tangled web of it. Of _course_ they’re going to be asking some things to you.”

 

Amanda’s mouth gapes. “All I did was”-

 

Malcolm raises a hand. “I’d prefer it if you didn't word vomit on my shoes darling.”

 

“You just want to stay out of it, protect yourself”- Amanda gets more enraged now. 

 

 _“Yes.”_ Malcolm draws himself up. “I’d forgotten that you like your men to be doers don’t you? But question my motives again and you’ll find that I’ll move rather faster than you like to have you removed from Cabinet altogether.” Amanda swallows now. “You might want to be thankful that you still have a place here.” 

 

_“DoSAC”-_

 

“Is your new home.” He yanks her up the rest of the stairs and she almost trips in her dark heels. “Congratulations.” He begins to steer her now with one hand, whilst he gestures all around them with the other, as if they’re in _‘Aladdin,’_ and performing _‘A Whole New World’_ together. She’s aware of Molly scurrying after them, the box jostling in her hands. Just in front of them a rather short hedgehog like man scrambles to do something on a computer, before he and a curvy woman get rather awkwardly to their feet. “Looking through an old interview yeah?” Malcolm nods at them wisely now. Amanda looks nonplussed. “This is what they do,” he informs her, nicking the rest of Terri’s tea and slurping at it noisily, before he complains about the strength of it. [“Like it black like my heart.”] One of his hands is still splayed upon Amanda’s back. “Want to find out the best and worst of you, so that they know how to get around you.” Amanda’s face tightens now. She could really do with having more people on her side today. The woman looks completely brazen about what Malcolm’s just said though, whilst the man thankfully looks a little more uncomfortable about it all. “This is Terri Coverly, Director of Communications around here and John Watson. He’ll be your Junior Policy Advisor. He just started today, so you’ll have that in common.” Amanda grimaces. “He’s a bit short I’ll admit, but as long as he doesn’t come up lacking in the policy making decisions then I'm sure he’ll be fine.”

 

John does not look amused by that. Amanda wishes that Malcolm wouldn't make people hate him on sight and probably hate her because of her association with him. “Perhaps you should know that I was once a soldier,” John says, tone as terse as he looks. 

 

“Let me tell you something son.” Malcolm straightens himself up. “I know everything about you and I’ll be far worse than any General you’ve ever had. That’s a promise.” 

 

“That I won’t dispute,” John mutters under his breath now, looking at Malcolm hatefully with thin lips. 

 

“You two,” Malcolm announces loudly, “This is of course Amanda _Penny_ Lane.” 

 

Oh, how Amanda just loves the fact that he’d brought that up. “Yep, my mother was a Beatles fan,” she decides to come clean about it. Thankfully there are worse things that she could have been partly named after. Like Vodka or something. 

 

“So, your initials are A.P.L? That sounds like a bad abbreviation.” John looks thoughtful now. 

 

“Thanks John.” Amanda just loves him already.

 

“Or apple. Like the fruit.” Terri looks at her curiously. Amanda loves her too. 

 

“All very interesting I'm sure, but it might interest you to know that Amanda is not just Secretary of State for Social Affairs and Citizenship oh no.” Malcolm gathers everyone’s attention again. Amanda finds herself holding her breath. “She’s Secretary of ‘if she screws this job up then she’ll be outta here,’ taking her assistant Molly Hooper here with her.” Amanda flushes and frowns. “Good to know where everyone stands isn’t it?” He claps her hard on the back. She nods and nearly chokes, feeling like he’s displacing a lung, before she shakes Terri and John’s hands. She says something pathetic like how good it is to meet them and how she hopes that they’ll choose to be an asset to her here at the department. “Very good, yes, very good.” Malcolm fake laughs now, before he stares pointedly at John and asks, “What interview were you watching then?” 

 

“I'm sure there’s no need for”- Amanda begins at once. 

 

“The swan one,” Terri says promptly, looking like she’s done absolutely nothing wrong and Amanda decides that she’ll have to keep an eye on her. 

 

“Oh, the _swan_ one.” Amanda dislikes Malcolm’s tone now and is made even more unhappy when he looks directly at her. “Well, let me assure you that you’re more like an ugly duckling than a swan in the Prime Minister’s eyes now darling and if you mess up here then not even the Queen will protect you.” 

 

Amanda, who has always believed in getting a bollocking away from any of her staff, says, “Yes, well perhaps we should continue this in my office Malcolm?” 

 

“Oh, you have an office now do you? I don’t see any door around here with your name on it.” Malcolm looks around now. Amanda’s heart sinks at the sight of the glass office, which still has Hugh’s name on it. It would have to be glass and it would have to still have her predecessor’s name on it. “I think you mean your kennel don’t you?” Malcolm looks back at her now. “Where all the bad bitches go.” Amanda forces a smile at him. “Come on then,” Malcolm sighs, and Amanda, feeling relieved, makes her way to the glass office. She can hear Molly stumbling after her, muttering ‘Hi,’ to the others and being so polite and she assumes that Malcolm is following too, but then she hears him saying, “By the way you’ve been watching the wrong thing.” Amanda freezes. “If you really want to get the measure of your new mistress here”-he nods at Amanda now-“Then you better watch the _‘Top of the Pops Christmas Special’_ that has the band the _‘Roasted Chestnuts,’_ on it.” 

 

“Malcolm _no.”_ Amanda swivels back around again, nearly decapitating Molly who it turns out had been following her very closely and who has to lift the box right up to her neck to avoid colliding with her. 

 

“What do you mean _no?”_ Malcolm looks amused now. All of his teeth are on show. Taking centre court he looks back at John. “Amanda’s mother was backing singer and wears this teeny-weeny Santa suit in the only Christmas song they ever did. Ironically the colour of said Santa suit matched Amanda’s face when the video was splashed all over the papers when she first ran to become an MP. That’s right isn’t it sweetheart?”

 

“Yes, thank you Malcolm.” Amanda really could kill him now. She opens the door to her office and nods with her head that Malcolm should hurry inside. Preferably at once. 

 

“Just trying to have some fun, before the police arrive to take you away.” Malcolm, hands inside his pockets, swaggers towards the office. 

 

 _“Police?”_ Terri pipes up anxiously from behind him. “They’re not really going to be coming here are they? And to take Amanda away too?” 

 

“Oh, don’t worry your head about it.” Malcolm turns back to her. “I won’t say, ‘your _pretty_ head,’” he adds wisely. Terri looks insulted, but doesn’t argue with him. She’s used to it by now. “The police aren't going to find investigating this to be in the public interest. Case will be closed by the end of the day. That’s a fact.” With that he swoops into Amanda’s office. 

 

Molly pops the box down on Amanda’s new desk and rolls her eyes a little at Amanda’s hurried dismissal of her. From where Amanda’s standing behind her desk her eyes seem to be fixed on Malcolm and Molly can tell that once more her boss is thinking purely about herself. 

 

“You don’t think that the investigation will last long?” Amanda looks hopefully at Malcolm. 

 

He snorts. Everyone tries to save themselves in this job. “No. Which is one good thing I suppose, out of all your carnage. Let’s see…” He studies her intently, hands inside his pockets. 

 

“Oh no.” Amanda can see where this is going. 

 

“I know we've done this previously, but since the move we need to update it. You don’t have a gas-guzzler. In fact you don’t even drive at all. That’s the first tick.” Malcolm checks things that could be problematic in terms of her relationship with the media off his fingers. “Expenses.” He frowns now. Eyes grow very dark. “Let’s not talk about fucking expenses today.” Amanda looks suitably chastised, but does not tear her gaze away from his. “Racist language. I think you’re a fucking moose for doing what you did”-Amanda opens her mouth-“I'm not racist. I'm just giving you an example of what you should not say. Like all white people are in the KKK”-

 

“Or that they’re Nazi leaders,” Amanda mutters, starting to get into it now, but also thinking of the man in front of her. 

 

Malcolm nods. “That’s another thing that you shouldn't say. I'm assuming that you don’t have any secret children that you’ve been sending off to private school?” There’s just the slightest hesitation, before Amanda shakes her head. “Good. No children. Dead parents. Only one friend who is also your Special Advisor. That’s what I like to hear.” Amanda glares at him. “I'm assuming that you don’t want to go sitting your arse down on any expensive equipment, whilst you’re here?”

 

Amanda shakes her head, before she can’t resist saying, “Even if I did then you probably wouldn't let me. I might not even get a chair since you called me a dog just now”-

 

“Hey, hey sweetheart.” Malcolm wags his finger at her. “Don’t get all snippy on me. You brought all this on yourself.”

 

“Well I didn't, which you’d know by the way if you actually wanted me to tell you what happened,” Amanda fights back now. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side. You’re supposed to hear all of this, so that you can do the best for me, project me in the best light,” she gets some of her frustrations off her chest. There are many. 

 

Malcolm gives her a look of warning, before he says, “And you’re supposed to be on _my_ side. Make my job easier by telling me all this stuff to begin with. Did you ever think of that?”

 

Amanda’s shoulders slump. “So _that’s_ why you’re doing this,” she breathes. 

 

“Don’t go having any torrid love affair with the Victorian ghost either.” Amanda frowns at Malcolm’s nickname for Mycroft. Catching it Malcolm quickly adds, “I'm being honest here. If his face were any paler then he’d be fucking transparent. If you kissed the man then you’d only fucking know about it when you got attacked by his bulge, which you know all about I'm sure.” 

 

Amanda looks at him disapprovingly. “As I'm sure that Mycroft has informed you many a time we aren't together any more.”

 

“Well, just keep it that way. I don’t want people thinking you’re getting distracted and don’t go falling out of any clubs either”-

 

“Shame. I was really planning to let my hair down tonight,” Amanda says sarcastically. “Martini here. Some bad karaoke there…”

 

It’s Malcolm’s turn to look disapproving. “Any more strikes against you and you’ll be a swan that has a bag on its head and its head fucking underwater. Is that clear? You’ll never be able to come back here, so don’t even joke about it.” 

 

“As always you enunciate beautifully Malcolm. Thank you,” Amanda says waspishly, quite fed up of him now. If he’s not going to fight for her then she doesn’t want to bother with him either. 

 

“Now stand up straight. Despite what has happened today you’ve still got an appearance to maintain, is that clear?” Amanda nods now, before she deliberately slouches all the more. Malcolm tuts at her. “God knows how you made Foreign Secretary.” 

 

“Well it wasn’t through sleeping with everyone,” Amanda drawls. 

 

“I'm going now before I end up firing you _without_ the Prime Minister’s permission.” Malcolm points at her. “Two minutes in a department. That would be a record wouldn't it?” A muscle in Amanda’s jaw pulses. Finally she stands up straighter. _“Oh,_ is that the sound of a police car pulling up I can hear? Good luck with them. Maybe I’ll have a word with them as I pass. Make them more interested in you after all.” Amanda scowls at his departure.

 

“Wanker.” She feels unnerved by his words though, even if they _are_ probably a joke, and she finds herself going to look out of the window anyway. Thankfully from what she can see there are no police down there. Cursing Malcolm for his games she ends up turning to the box and throwing the stress ball across the room. Forgetting that the office is made out of glass she ends up straightening up and smiling a little awkwardly as she’s met by stares from both Terri and John. Molly just looks like she’s used to seeing such a thing by now, but is not pleased by it. John goes back to whatever it is that he’s doing, but Terri approaches the office a moment later and asks if she would like a cup of tea.

 

“Lady Grey,” Amanda says instinctively now, before she realizes, “Actually that probably makes me sound like a prick, so builder’s. No, I don’t care what they think. Lady Grey.” 

 

Terri goes off in some confusion, but when she brings her Lady Grey back to her again Amanda’s heart sinks as she hears her say to John on her way out, “I don’t think she’ll even last that long.” Have they been taking bets on how long she’ll be there?

 

She unpacks a few things, trying to take her mind off how this is her last chance, how she might not be able to claw her way back again if anything else should go wrong for her, how short a time she might find herself here, but it all whizzes about her head like a train that’s too blurry for her to see. 

 

Terri takes down the sign on the door with Hugh’s name on it. Amanda tries to smile, thinking that, that at least is a sign of something more permanent, but when Terri simply puts up a slip of paper with her name on it instead her face drops. Right now her strength feels about that thin. 

 

As she puts her parents’ photos on her desk in their joint frame she tries to take some good energy from her mother’s side. Tries to be the swan that she wants to be. In the end she just winds up telling her mother to fuck off. 

 

“Sorry,” she murmurs to the photo now, feeling even more foolish. “Its just been one of those days y’know?” But her mother, posing casually on some steps as she half turns towards the camera with a smile in the faded light of day, just looks so astonishingly beautiful. Her dark skin lit up by the light. “What am I on about? Of course you don’t know.”

 

“Minister? Is everything all right?” Terri pops her head around the door now. 

 

“Yeah,” is Amanda’s knee-jerk reaction. Terri disappears again, but Amanda has visions of her telling John just how loopy their new minister is and them both trying to get her sectioned. Her gaze returns to her parents’ photos. She thinks of the swan interview. Thinks of how her mother’s death had made her feel. How it had startled her into a sense of being all too aware that there was a life beyond work out there and she was heading into a place where she would never see any of it if she carried on the way she was. Never have a serious relationship. Never have any children. Her mind teeters on the verge of a particular memory, before she pulls herself back through thinking that it’s not like she’s ever wanted children in the first place. Having grown up she finds herself dealing with enough drama and idiotic behaviour on a daily basis. She’s not sure if she could cope with any more, but she thinks sometimes that it would be nice to have a partner. Someone who she could share her life with. Vent to. Amanda shifts uncomfortably now, her knees knocking against the desk. She wonders if she’ll ever find someone like her father was to her mother. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to be truly happy if she doesn’t. If all she ever has is her work. Is that enough at the end of the day? She thinks of the concept of soul mates. That’s what it seems, to her now, that her mother and father were if such things really do exist. To her, like a scheme that she hasn’t looked at upon her desk, it’s something that she just can’t properly dismiss without having strong evidence either way. Her thoughts drift onto Mycroft now because inevitably thinking about all those previous things leads her mind to him. All those ‘what if’ questions that still linger there. Yes, he hadn’t been perfect and they hadn’t been together all that long in the first place, but they have this chemistry and what if there’s no one better? For her anyway? What if _he_ had been a little less resentful and a little more understanding? What if _she_ in turn had been a bit more patient and less frustrated with him? If they’d really given things a shot where would they be right now and would she be any happier for it? Seeing him that day-the first time in that six months where they’d properly faced each other regarding the past instead of one of them just passing on a brief message and running away-had made her heart emit all these complicated emotions and what with the way he’d last looked at her Amanda felt sure that it had made Mycroft feel the same. 

 

 _“Minister?”_ Terri again. Amanda jerks out of her thought and stops seeing Mycroft in her mind. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“Perhaps you could help our new recruit a little? Think he’s a bit lost.”

 

“Oh, right yes.” Amanda inwardly chastises herself. She should be running this department now, making the most of her final chance, not losing it because she’s stuck in the past. 

 

*

 

For a while she manages to drift along like one of those toy boats along a river in Cambridge. She’d watched a race there once with her parents. They’d gone on holiday there. She’s not sure if she’d even been happy then, but if she had then she almost certainly isn’t now. She thinks that she might have been just surviving for a very long time. 

 

*

 

Inevitably all her previous thoughts and musings about soul mates crash back into her early that evening when Mycroft steps into her office. 

 

She thinks it’s Terri at first and looks up. It’s like having something slamming into her-perhaps the _‘Titanic’-_ when she sees him. “Hey,” she manages, pushing her hair back. She’s come too far in the day to be aggressive. 

 

“How’s purgatory?” He does this sort of swaying movement with his body and the light grey in his pinstripe suit shines for a moment like tree branches in the moonlight. He must decide that it’s safe enough to let go of his umbrella for he places it up by the wall. She’d snatched it from him once and thrown it across the floor. Made fun of the way that he carried it everywhere when she was being particularly horrible. 

 

“Oh, you know,” she tries to shrug, “I’ve got the press chasing me everywhere, so I can’t even go for a stroll to get away from any of my new employees.” Mycroft pulls a bit of a face now, but listens to her intently. “Sorry. I suppose that’s not fair. Not when I’ve apparently brought this all on myself like Malcolm keeps on telling me. But it’s just that they’re taking bets on how long I'm staying and expecting me to know what to do when I don’t have a fucking clue. The old guy left this department in a right state. Nothing is where it should be or even where you might _expect_ it to be. Even on the computer it’s a minefield and pot luck if you pick the right folder. I’ve never been in a situation like this before. Sure I’ve dealt with crap, but I wish I could go back because it’s just like instead of shovelling the shit out I'm dropping it on my head instead. Oh, _and,_ just to top it all off I’ve had the police around here asking me questions. They left about an hour ago, but said that they’ll be back if they've got any more. I don’t think I’ve eaten anything properly all day. No one left any alcohol in this room and I'm too afraid to ask any one to go out and get some just in case I end up being painted as some sort of alcoholic in tomorrow’s papers.” She gives him a bracing smile now, the weight of everything inside her chest somewhat lessening for her having got it out to him. “So, I think it’s safe to say that I'm not moving to either Heaven or Hell any time soon, though I'm beginning to wonder if this is _actually_ Hell and not purgatory after all.”

 

“Well,” Mycroft leans back consideringly, as he sits down, “I can’t help you with everything, though I would tell you not to worry too much about the police. That will probably go away pretty quickly.” Amanda hums now and shrugs. “It sounds like you need therapy actually,” Mycroft tries to be funny. 

 

“Yeah, it probably does,” Amanda gets close to both laughing and crying now. She puts the back of her hand to her mouth to try and restrain herself. Why does she always end up feeling such a mess in front of him? So fucking vulnerable? 

 

“But I did bring provisions for this express purpose.” Mycroft wriggles his eyebrows up and down now. Amanda looks at him questioningly. He brings out a silver hip flask from his inside jacket pocket and sneaks it by the side of her desk, so that the others won’t catch glimpses of it through the glass screen. 

 

“Oh thank God. You’re a marvel.” Amanda bends her head, not caring what’s in it. “Sorry,” she realizes what she’s just said now and how it might come across. _‘You’re good, but still not good enough for me.’_ Isn't that what she’d said? 

 

“It’s okay. Just scotch.” Mycroft shrugs, not taking offence and deliberately trying not to think about it all too much. 

 

She smiles a little, feeling encouraged by his behaviour and takes a long drag of it just as Malcolm wanders over to Terri and John who are the only ones left on that floor, aside from Molly who is stood a little apart from the group and looking awkward. Terri and John are both ogling Mycroft and Amanda strangely. To Malcolm this day feels like it’s never going to end. Seeing Amanda lift her head up from whatever she’d been doing and grin a little sheepishly at Mycroft who appears flushed just gives him a further headache. Right now his body feels like it’s made entirely of knots and he can just see more and more problems coming. 

 

“Are _they-?”_ Terri wonders if she’s seeing correctly. Amanda appears to have some spit dangling from her chin. At least Terri _hopes_ that it’s spit. 

 

“Look I don’t have time to explain the on-off saga that is those two in there, but they used to be yes,” Malcolm replies, even though he clearly does have time for he sits down upon the edge of one of the desks now, as if he won’t be going anywhere for a while. 

 

John raises his eyebrows at the information. 

 

“Oh God, now I'm thinking of them”-

 

“Best not,” Malcolm advises, as he cuts off Terri’s exclamation. He pushes himself off the desk’s edge and swoops towards the office, deciding to move after all. He grimaces somewhat when he sees Mycroft dabbing at Amanda’s chin with a handkerchief. 

 

“Malcolm, I was just telling Amanda that she should keep up a better appearance,” Mycroft says, as he withdraws from her now. The handkerchief lands on his leg, unfortunately spit side down and he grimaces. “Wouldn't want anything to further add to today’s mess.” 

 

“Yeah, sure you were,” Malcolm doesn’t have time for any of Mycroft’s crap. He draws himself up. “Look, I'm aware that today’s been quite the day and that some tension needs to be released, but if you could keep the act of blow jobs and cleaning up after them to a more concealed space then I’d be grateful. I think John’s starting to have an erection.”

 

“Piss off Malcolm.”

 

“Talking about pissing,” Malcolm begins in response to Amanda, whilst Mycroft just looks embarrassed about it all, “The police been around have they?”

 

“Yeah,” Amanda says more solemnly now. 

 

 _“And?”_ Malcolm urges. “Did you piss outside the tent?”

 

“No,” Amanda says, “But they might be back.” 

 

“Right, well just stick to what you’ve started telling them. Don’t go freaking out. You’ll be fine.” Amanda looks surprised by this sudden show of faith in her. Maybe she’ll get to go to Heaven after all she thinks. She misses the way that Mycroft looks suspicious. “Never seen so many frightened MP’s as I have today,” Malcolm regales now, “Like a vicar fleeing a crack den once the cops get there.” Amanda smiles faintly for a moment. 

 

“Well, I better be going then. Just wanted to see how you were settling in.” Mycroft gets up. 

 

“Oh, you don’t have”-

 

“Let him go,” Malcolm interrupts and after a moment Amanda nods. “Besides, he’s had what he came for.” 

 

“I really won’t tell you to piss off again Malcolm,” Amanda informs the grinning Director of Communications for Number Ten as she stands up.

 

“Got the department all in order have you? Feel able to go home at this kind of time?” 

 

“It’s twenty to seven and its been a very long day.” Amanda rolls her shoulders. “Besides,” she steps over to Malcolm with her bag, “I can’t perform miracles.”

 

“Why are you even here then?” 

 

She snorts and wanders past him. “You _know_ why I'm here,” she says in a low tone, before she says goodnight to Terri, John and her assistant and goes to stand outside DoSAC. Thankfully the press has finally buggered off and left her be. There she lights a cigarette and inhales, before she exhales deeply. _There,_ that’s better she thinks.

 

Mycroft wanders past her a moment later, noting the act of her smoking in his mind, but not saying anything about it, just nodding. Grateful she smiles a little around her cigarette and nods back at him. Turning around she looks at the darkening sky. The moon is already out. Early tonight. But there are no stars. 

 

“Oh God, don’t let the _‘Daily Mail’_ catch you doing that,” Malcolm warns. She turns to him. “They won’t like it. Especially you on today of all days and because you’re a woman.” 

 

“Yeah? Well they can all go to hell. I'm already in it.” Again she turns to the sky and finds herself oddly smiling. 

 

“Hey, Mr. Lover-Lover, got you a present by the way. Left it back at your office.” Malcolm calls after Mycroft and Amanda rolls her eyes at the pair of them, as they fade off into the night once more. 

 

*

 

Mycroft approaches his office just a little later with a feeling of dread, the lights coming on as he walks. Knowing Malcolm and after today the present will end up being a sex doll with a picture of Amanda’s face on it and the words, _‘Do Not Touch,’_ over the chest area. To his surprise though his present is not a doll, but a man. He just sees the top of bleached blond slicked back hair for a moment, which shines in the low light of the room, as the silver moon comes in through the blinds. Then the man spins around on Mycroft’s chair and reveals ghostly pale skin and oddly dark contrasting eyes. There seems to be something off about his whole appearance. 

 

“You must be Mycroft. Malcolm wants me to follow you around the departments.” _‘Does he now?’_ is what Mycroft thinks, knowing that Malcolm had chosen him because he’d realized that it would annoy him and not to mention pay him back for his non-existent role in all the hassle caused today. “I'm a journalist you see from _‘The Sun.’_ Been bugging Malcolm for a while now, but after today he finally seems to have decided that it might be a good thing. Shows an air of transparency you see. An air of honesty in the midst of all this crisis.” 

 

Mycroft’s phone buzzes. With a frown he slides it out of his pocket, whilst still looking at the man. 

 

 _Have you heard about your girlfriend and who’s replacing her?_ It’s from his brother Sherlock. 

 

“She’s not my”- Mycroft begins to say automatically now, before he studies the photo that Sherlock sends next. It’s of the new Foreign Secretary Sebastian Moran. His graying dark hair is brushed back from his aristocratic face. He looks pleased as the press catches him on his way out of Downing Street. Mycroft knows he’s been gunning for the position for a while now, but he’s got another reason to be concerned aside from what the man might now do with that role.

 

Sherlock summarizes it eloquently in his next text. _Do you think this is him making a move?_ Mycroft knows that he’s referring not to Moran now, but to one who they believe he has a connection with-James Moriarty. The worst thing is that they don’t even know what Moriarty looks like. He could be anywhere. But they know that Moran dabbles in the underworld-odd transactions show that in his back records, which Sherlock managed to get discreetly and much to Mycroft’s chagrin. He’d rather his brother didn't get mixed up in all this. But Sherlock had been bored and looked into such a thing anyway. In any case there have been whispers about whose been controlling that underworld for some time now. Whose been the puppet master. That pulls Sherlock in as much as the next man Mycroft knows. 

 

The journalist clears his throat. Mycroft looks up at him. “Sorry. I know you’re busy and all, but we were rather in the middle of having a conversation.” The journalist stops pretending to meet his gaze and examines his nails now. 

 

“Yes. We were weren’t we?” Mycroft studies him. “Forgive me, but I don’t recall hearing your name?”

 

“It’s Brook,” the man says now, “Richard Brook.”


	2. Scheme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda tries to navigate and impress in her new role.

‘NEW FOREIGN SEC MORAN KEEN TO MAKE FRESH TRADE DEALS FOR BRITAIN.’ Amanda glares at the headline of one of next day’s newspapers in a disgruntled fashion. She can just make out part of the accompanying article. She’s covered the rest of it with paperwork. _‘New Foreign Secretary Sebastian Moran has barely been in the job 24 hours, but is already keen to make waves in the role. “This is a very fresh crisis,” he said at a gathering yesterday where his new role was announced, referring of course to the damning revelations about what some MP’s have been claiming on their expenses. “But I think it’s clear that some members of the public are asking, and quite rightly too, exactly what it is they are paying their MP’s to do.” The new Foreign Secretary also had some damning words for the old one, Amanda Lane. “I can see what her intentions were and of course people have to be held to account if they've been flouting the system, but there were more professional ways to go about it than that. Amanda had a great opportunity to take people to account in Westminster, but she never did. It’s little wonder she finds herself in a new department now rather than standing up for our rights abroad.”_ Amanda can almost picture a smirk defiling his rat like face. _“Listen,” the new Foreign Secretary said, almost apologetically, “I’ve made no secret of the fact that I wanted to have this role when the Cabinet under this government was initially formed. I didn't get it then. The Prime Minister has now told me himself that this was a mistake, but I forgive him and intend to hit the ground running with it now. We made some poor deals in Amanda’s time and that can certainly be rectified.” It’s not so unusual for someone to turn on a member of their own party, perhaps some of our readers will remember’-_

 

Her eyes keep drifting to it, but she looks away now. She has to get herself under order. Get this _department_ under order. She can’t just fume forever. She has to make her mark. She calls Molly in. 

 

* 

 

Amanda sneezes violently and Molly jumps in reaction to it. They’re in Amanda’s office. Standing either side of her desk and rooting through an old and very rumpled folder about policy ideas. 

 

“Jesus, sorry Molly.” Amanda says in reference to her sneeze, glancing up at the other woman. 

 

Molly seems a little paler today. Amanda doesn’t know it, but there’s a bruise on the side of Molly’s cheek that she’s covered up with foundation. 

 

“Christ, smells like a farm in here.” Malcolm walks through the open office door, dark grey suit on, black and white stripy tie pinned into place. 

 

Amanda shakes her head at him. “I didn't grow up on a farm Malcolm. Just because I'm from Wales, honestly.”

 

“I know exactly where you’re from,” Malcolm’s Scottish accent seems to erase her previous words. “Mid-Wales,” he nods when her eyes look challenging, “Coastal town. You’ve got a scratch just at the top of your cheek, more of a vertical line than anything”-Molly makes just the slightest of movements, but it’s too small for either Malcolm or Amanda to notice-“From where a seagull attacked you near an arts centre once when you were eating chips. Being stupid you looked up instead of down. You used to go to the arts centre to see theatre or sometimes look at the paintings, but you can’t draw yourself”-

 

“God no. I'm hopeless at anything that’s creative,” Amanda interjects. “Though I like looking at art that’s taken time to do. Not something that me or a five-year-old could do.” 

 

“Your lack of creativity is what makes you an useless politician,” Malcolm says now, “Can’t spin a yarn to get yourself out of scrapes. Have to rely on other people to do it for you.” 

 

Amanda’s body tenses. She wishes that Molly wasn’t here to hear this. “That’s your job Malcolm,” she reminds him. “Talking of which, what are you doing here?” 

 

He’s about to reply when she sneezes again. “Christ, get us an ambulance on standby would you? He looks at Molly now. Seemingly concerned Molly glances at her boss, before she darts to the door. “I was joking!” Malcolm sounds exasperated. 

 

“Don’t tease her,” Amanda sniffs weakly into her handkerchief. Molly’s face flushes. 

 

“Well, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Malcolm looks back at her.

 

“Hay fever”- 

 

“Close the damn window then.” Malcolm waves a hand across. Honestly, does he have to sort everything out? 

 

 _“Can’t,”_ Amanda protests, stuffing her handkerchief back into the pocket of her dark trouser suit. “I need to let some air in. It smells like someone died in here.”

 

“Yeah it was you and I'm talking to your fucking ghost.” Malcolm still looks befuddled by the amount of time that’s being wasted here. In an attempt to get things moving more quickly he turns to Molly who hovers by the doorway. “Fuck off Goldilocks. Got some important stuff to be talking about here.”

 

 _“Oh.”_ Molly flinches. “Oh right yeah.” She scarpers.

 

“Was she really the best you could find to bring along with you?” Malcolm says, still in Molly’s hearing range, as the door only closes a moment later. 

 

“Leave her be,” Amanda says with a firm quietness that marks the conversation as being closed. She does not know where it comes from. This sudden urge to protect Molly. 

 

“You going through some policies?” Malcolm nods at the folder that’s on her desk. 

 

“Yeah. Wanted to come up with something good,” she confesses now. She does not say that she might have already come up with something the previous night when she’d been flicking around the TV channels and drowning herself in wine. She’s very much on a scouting mission and wants to keep all her options open. 

 

“Well, I wouldn't bother if I were you,” Malcolm deflates all her hopes of actually being able to make a difference here. She stares at him. She knows that this is the moment, before something’s coming and her heart skips a beat in anticipation. _‘Not again,’_ is all she can think now. “Did you take anything?” Amanda feels funny. Malcolm takes a step forward. “When you were moving yesterday? Did you take anything? Because I swear to God if you did then”- He swipes a finger across the air. 

 

“Like what? What exactly are you accusing me of here?” Amanda is defensive. 

 

“Any documents? Any silly ideas you had about finishing anything off, whilst your mind was in a spin? Anything like that?” 

 

“I didn't take anything.” Amanda feels sick now. 

 

Malcolm stares at her for one long, hard moment, before he must decide that she’s telling the truth, for he elaborates, “There was a note that had figures on to do with immigration. Its gone missing. Your replacement-Sebastian Moran, closet Tory, lord of the flicked back hair and ‘I surely must love myself’-can’t find it and the PM needs those figures today to add to the big speech he’s making.” He takes a deep breath for a moment and once more takes stock of her face, rubbing his lips together. “Here’s the smoking gun Black Swan. The press seem to have magically acquired such figures.” Once more Amanda shakes her head. “I swear to God if you’ve crossed me again”- he points at her. 

 

“I didn't. I wouldn't.” Amanda is helpless. She can’t believe there’s been another leak and so soon too. Spit feels sticky in her mouth. 

 

“You better not have my dear. And you better have a damn good policy too. The best fucking one ever. You better be able to get whole villages living happily on the moon. Even that might not be enough. And for God’s sake stop biting your nails,” Malcolm adds as Amanda’s hand goes up instinctively towards her mouth. “It’s like you’re fucking leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for the cleaners. No wonder you’ve got past history with seagulls. Do you want the press to report that our new minister seems to have a problem? That she can’t seem to find enough time in her schedule to eat something, so she has to resort to self-harm instead just to give herself a chewing sensation? Thank God you never made Chancellor. Between the fact that you’d be eating all the money and you have a calculator on your desk you’d have been fired from that job even more quickly than you will be from this one.” He makes to walk out now. Makes to leave her just shaking there from his words and the bombshell that he’s dropped, but then suddenly his phone goes. He looks at the number, before he stares at Amanda as he takes it. “Hmm? Yeah. All right. Good.” Amanda squares her shoulders as Malcolm comes off the phone. “You’re lucky. You get a reprieve. The information’s been found, though we still don’t know how the papers got hold of it.” 

 

Amanda feels almost dizzy and lets out a breath in relief. Malcolm’s about to go then, but she calls after him, “What’s this I hear about Glenn Cullen being sacked?” Determined to have some payback after what he’d just put her through. 

 

Malcolm looks back at her, eyebrows doing a little dance. He seems confused by her mention of the former employee. “You said that you wanted to bring Molly over. There wasn’t enough room for everyone.”

 

“I never wanted anyone to be sacked because of it.” Amanda is grim and thoughtful for a moment. 

 

As he reads her changing expression into something more fierce and determined Malcolm says, _“No,”_ defiantly. 

 

Amanda smiles a little at that. “Isn't there anywhere he can go?” She has this sweet little smile upon her face and feels bold after knowing the information has been found and that much of today’s latest crisis has been avoided. 

 

“Well,” Malcolm does a big show of waving his hands and shrugging at the same time, shoulders creeping right up to his neck, “I suppose you could always give him the Senior Press Officer job, but he’d be working underneath Terri and probably get less pay because we really can’t afford that role, so”-

 

“Do it.” Amanda is brazen now. “See if he’d be up for it,” she shrugs. “Tell him that the department still needs him.”

 

Malcolm looks amused. “Yesterday you dropped the biggest pile of”-

 

“I _know,”_ Amanda stresses, shoulders slumping a little. _“Please.”_ She gives him her most desperate smile. 

 

“All right,” Malcolm relents, before he points at her when she looks relieved. “Don’t screw this one up.”

 

He leaves a moment later and Amanda drops into her chair, pushing the folder towards the edge of the desk, before she changes her mind and uses it as a pillow to bury her face in instead. That had been a close one. 

 

 _“Amanda?”_ a soft voice calls a moment later. _Molly._ Thankfully not Malcolm returning. Amanda looks up at her. Molly comes in and closes the door behind her. “I have a fairly good idea you know? For a policy if you’re stuck.” She half-smiles at her now. Amanda leans back in her chair, listening and feeling intrigued about it, but thinking at the same time, her mind growing firmer about something. Molly bustles across and doesn’t close the window fully, but keeps it open less to help with Amanda’s allergies. She fumbles with the catch, before she pulls her hand away from it once more. “I thought-well, I was watching a programme last night you know? And I was thinking about how it might be good to help people who have been abused. Women and whoever really. Children as well.” She keeps her eyes focused on a spot just beneath one of the windows on the building opposite, waiting for some kind of response from her boss. She does not tell Amanda that the TV programme hadn’t existed and that really it had come from the out of body response that she’d had from watching herself last night. How the horror had been full inside her and the sound on loud as Jim had punished her. Cannot bear to say that much. He’d intimidated her before, but he’d never hit her until last night. It makes her feel sick just thinking about it again. She’s too shocked to just now, but she knows that she’ll forgive him eventually for it and she doesn’t know how that makes her feel. It just makes her want to do better as a human being. Learn more because is _this-?_

 

 _“No,”_ Amanda says suddenly, clearing her throat now, gathering herself together and pushing the folder aside once more. “That’s a very nice idea Molly, but I'm going to do this right. I'm going to do what I thought of last night.” With that she strides out of the office. 

 

“Of course you are.” Molly looks after her sadly, before she trails after her. 

 

*

 

“Right you lot,” Amanda gathers Terri and John together in some free space next to a flip chart, “We’re going to start work on a new scheme that I want to get up and running as soon as possible.” Terri rolls her eyes. Here they go again. Like a dog pissing out its territory. “Do you have a problem Terri?” Amanda catches her. 

 

Terri schools her face into neutral mode, which happens astonishingly quickly after all the practice she’s had. “No Minister. Just wondering if I need to be concerned about the ‘Hulking Henry’ thing?” John fights back a grin. Terri smirks. 

 

Amanda does a double take. “Ah, I see you’ve been looking into my past again.” It’s her turn to re-arrange her features now. “But if we could concentrate on the scheme please? It’s about doing our bit to get unemployment figures down through helping to make the workplace a more attractive and happier place to be.”

 

“Sounded quite sweet. That little romance of yours. You grew up with him is that right? But you never much spoke to one another until the sixth-form. There you came across each other in the library, whilst your more rambunctious friends planned their nights out. You made the adult choice of splitting up when you went off to different universities. Him to Durham. You to Cardiff to read English, but not before he’d de-flowered you. Not so sweet of him to go to the papers of course”- Terri claps her hands together. 

 

Amanda flushes. “I can have some fun y’know?” she blurts out, feeling annoyed, especially at the, ‘de-flowering’ comment, but she feels even more so when she realizes that she’s reacted just as instinctively as Terri had wanted her to. Now both Terri and John are on tenterhooks as to what she might say next, leaning forwards in their moveable chairs. “After my mother died,” Amanda begins, determined that after this nothing more will be said about her love life. “I went speed-dating.” She realizes how ridiculous it sounds as soon as it leaves her mouth. 

 

 _“What?”_ Apparently John does too. “So your mother popped her clogs and you just thought”- 

 

“That a bit of sex might cheer me up yeah,” Amanda says very quickly now, avoiding their eyes. She does not say how it had been just the once-a stupid knee-jerk reaction if anything that she’d had from having woken up and seen that it might be better for her if she tried to have it all. It hadn’t been that bad meeting the men. A little awkward at the beginning maybe. But at least the embarrassment was short-lived. However though she’d gotten a couple of one night stands from it she’d soon realized that she could have that naturally at work. That there was no need to make an effort for such a thing, so she’d gone back to her ordinary life and nothing meaningful had ever occurred. She feels rather ashamed about it now. In the present she chances a glance at Terri and John, already wondering how they are processing this new information. Wondering if it makes her more appealing to them-this knowledge that she’s got down and dirty-or less so. She doesn’t know why she cares so much. They’re just her new employees and in any case with the way things are going she won’t be there long, whether her party will be or not, but it’s probably something stupid that makes her feel in such a way like how she can’t be a swan without good light and others thinking the absolute best of her. Her mother had, had a whole flock of friends after all. All laughing and tittering, before they’d moved on after she’d died and migrated to more interesting waters. Amanda at most has a feather in Molly and she’s not quite sure how good that will be right now. Whether it will be enough for her. She’s distracted from her thoughts though by the sight of a middle-aged man who’s just entered through the double doors and is adjusting the collar of the blue shirt that he’s wearing underneath a tan jacket. He seems to have just put on a red tie. 

 

 _“Glenn,”_ Molly says discreetly, so that only Amanda can hear her. 

 

Amanda startles back into life now. “Oh Glenn, it’s so great that you’re back here. I'm so sorry about the mix-up and all the confusion that happened yesterday.” She tries to shake his hand as warmly as she can. “Always something odd happening when people move.” She forces a smile up at him, before she does a bit of a double take when she catches Terri looking at Glenn in what she is sure is a new light since she’s now ranked above him. “Anyway,” she says, pulling her gaze away, “We were just going over a new scheme Glenn. If you could”- she gestures to a chair now. Glenn nearly falls over it, but gets there eventually. “Right, so if we could try and stay on track then. What do you think makes an attractive and happier workplace?” 

 

“Is that for me?” Glenn looks a little alarmed. He rubs his glasses on his trousers. 

 

“It’s for all of you,” Amanda says promptly. 

 

“Time off,” Terri says. 

 

“Yeah, time off is good,” Amanda agrees now, thinking that they’ll all be on permanent leave at this rate, but trying to keep her patience, “But try and think of things that are actually in the workplace and not about your time outside of it.” 

 

“Well, I’ve got a chair that I used to use, before I was, well anyway, it’s to help with a bad back”-

 

Amanda just thinks about the little argument that she’d had with Malcolm about chairs like that yesterday. “Support yes. Right,” she recovers. “Very good Glenn.” She writes, ‘SUPPORT,’ down on one page in the flip chart, so that it covers a lot of space. “Your contribution is noted.” She looks back at the team and smiles weakly at Glenn. His chest is puffed out in pride. John is scrolling through his phone and Molly’s eating a red apple. Amanda observes her for a moment as she flicks off something that’s on the side of it. She seems more distracted today, less herself. Amanda shakes her head. “Right, well”-

 

“There are those things they tell you to read aren't there?” Terri pipes up suddenly. “About how to sit in front of a computer. The right position. Things like that.” 

 

Amanda seizes on this chance to connect meaningfully with one of her colleagues. “Yes. Well done Terri. Do you think they’re clear enough though? Things like that?” 

 

“Haven’t read mine.” Terri shrugs. Amanda’s face falls. “But there must be one about somewhere,” Terri says in a false cheery voice now, as if she’s stopping a baby from having a tantrum. Her chair emits a loud sound as she gets up from it. “I’ll go see.” She floats off to her own desk. Amanda looks after her desperately, literally pinning all her hopes on whether she can keep this interaction going or not.

 

“Oh God.” John of course severs it completely and everyone’s eyes turn to him. “Someone put a duck house on their expenses.” 

 

A sudden conversation grows up about what a duck house even is and how big one might have to be. 

 

“How many ducks could you house in that one then?” Terri asks once they've established the basics. 

 

“Dunno. I’ll see if I can find out.” John scrolls. 

 

“That’s not really the issue here,” Amanda tries to get her unwieldy pupils back on track again. Everyone looks at her. “If we can all stay focused on this-this”-she’s forgotten herself-“Workplace thing and not talk about flaming ducks?” Her eyes land suddenly on Mycroft whose just snuck in and is now watching her from the double doors. He looks like a very smart duck himself. Her stomach does an odd flip. “Mycroft hi.” It’s just typical that he should walk in just as she’s started to loose her cool she thinks now. 

 

“Bad day?” he offers, coming forwards. 

 

“Bad life,” she mutters underneath her breath, grimacing, before she manages to get an ugly smile back on her face and re-directs him into her office by planting a hand upon his arm. John and Terri exchange a look. Molly watches after them, her expression reserved. 

 

*

 

“Just trying to get this new scheme going,” Amanda informs him once she’s stood behind her desk. She feels a little thrown off from seeing him again, but a little reassured too from being the one stood in the place of power inside the room even if she doesn’t have it. “No pressure or anything, but I think Malcolm might actually kill me if I don’t get this right.”

 

 _“Oh.”_ They both do this sort of awkward laugh thing. 

 

Amanda’s phone buzzes in her pocket. “That’s probably him now.” She checks it and nods in conformation, before she switches it off ruthlessly, ignoring Mycroft’s garbled attempts to tell her that she should answer it anyway. “He was here putting pressure on me earlier. The immigration figures went missing for a bit.” 

 

“I did hear about something yes,” Mycroft murmurs quietly now. He doesn’t say that he has his own suspicions about the matter or believes that it was hardly a coincidence that they were found just after Amanda had been informed about the matter. 

 

“Anyway he can’t seem to resist mentioning my mistake whenever he sees me and he left a torrent of abuse on my phone at four am. I mean I know he’s got to take it out on someone too or he’d probably go mad. _Madder,”_ she corrects herself with a smile now, before she goes more serious again. “But who am _I_ supposed to take it out in?” This gets to her suddenly. 

 

Mycroft hesitates for a moment, before he emits a soft, _“Me.”_ Amanda looks embarrassed. Her eyes dip down to her desk. She feels a mini-earthquake take place in her stomach. 

 

“That’s sweet of you Mycroft, but”-

 

“If it’s any consolation,” Mycroft interrupts her now, seemingly keen to move on too, “Then he’s been taking it out on me as well. You know that little gift he said he had for me when we were all leaving last night?”

 

“Oh yeah?” Amanda’s curious. She places her hands upon the back of her chair. 

 

“Well, it turns out that he’s got this journalist to follow me around. Richard Brook. He’s doing some piece on government departments and already driving me batty.” Amanda can’t help but smile now. “He seems to think that he knows more than I do. Makes suggestions at every turn. I was at this meeting just this morning and he said that we should give Muslim people incentives for not joining disruptive groups. Like shopping discounts.” 

 

Amanda laughs suddenly now, rocking her body forwards. Things can be so mad in government sometimes. 

 

“Yes, he’s a right stirrer.” Mycroft smiles in a wonky fashion. Its been a long time since he’s heard Amanda laugh like that. It makes him feel both happy and sad.

 

*

 

“Oh, _very_ friendly now,” Terri picks up on from where Molly, John, Glenn and she are all watching the duo through the glass wall. 

 

“You must have some stories about those two?” John questions Molly. “What they really mean to one another?” 

 

Molly is tentative for a moment. Finally she says, “I think he’s the only person that Amanda’s ever loved. Even ‘Hulking Henry,’ was more of a crush compared to him from what Amanda’s told me and what I’ve deduced.” She looks away from the office now. Her eyes shine with something hard. 

 

“Why so downcast sweetheart?” a familiar Irish drawl enters the room. “Not pleased to see me?” A man comes through the double-doors now. 

 

 _“Jim!”_ Molly bursts out just as Amanda and Mycroft move out of the office, both smiling and looking as though they are pleased, but trying not to show it. They both hesitate and frown though at hearing Molly’s word. 

 

 _“Molly?”_ Amanda says questioningly now, pushing past Mycroft and ignoring the tingles her body gets from doing so. “Who’s this?”

 

Molly looks a little tentative. She grasps at Jim’s suit sleeve. He looks annoyed about something and as if he’s trying to swallow it back down again. “This is my boyfriend R-Richard Brook.” 

 

“You just called him Jim.” Mycroft looks calculating now, making a connection in his head that he doesn’t like.

 

Richard Brook, or whatever he’s called, snakes his hand around Molly’s waist, bleached blond hair flopping and the gum in his mouth just about visible as he says, “She used to have this fantasy about growing up and marrying someone called Jim. Probably came from that children’s show, _‘Rosie and Jim.’_ Wanted to live on a canal boat and everything didn't you darling?” Molly nods now, looking nervous. Mycroft’s eyes narrow. “I'm not called Jim and we’re not married, but hey”- he waves a hand, as if say that everything’s all right as long as he’s got this woman on his arm. 

 

“You’re the one that I love,” Molly mutters with a pleading sort of urgency, as if she is trying to convince him of it. Richard lets out a sort of amused chuckle and they kiss. 

 

Amanda’s eyes sharpen and Mycroft’s gaze focuses on her curiously. He cannot tell if she’s merely worried about her friend or if she just finds the scene in front of her distasteful. Molly and Richard pull apart with a sucking noise and Amanda looks further unimpressed when she sees how Molly pulls out Richard’s gum from her own mouth a moment later and discreetly sticks it inside the closest bin. The younger woman lets out a nervous giggle. 

 

* 

 

“I think I’ve found our suspect,” Mycroft will say in his phone call to his brother Sherlock later that day. He will go on to detract Sherlock from taking up the case right away. They have to be a bit more patient first. 

 

*

 

“So Molly,” Amanda can’t resist saying when she’s ensconced safely back inside her office and the younger woman is pottering about on the other side of her desk, “I didn't realize your boyfriend was a journalist.” Molly looks uncomfortable now. “How long have you been with Richard?” She’s meant to be getting the finer points of the scheme done herself, using Molly as a sounding board, since the open group session hadn’t exactly gone to plan earlier, but she’s finding it very difficult to concentrate. Images of Molly kissing that man just keep filling her head and she doesn’t know why it bothers her so much. It had just been kissing after all, but something keeps niggling away at her, not letting her forget it. 

 

Molly startles a little and glances at her, no doubt wondering why she feels the need to know. Amanda can feel herself reddening, but holds the other woman’s gaze. “Over a year,” Molly finally says now in a meek voice. “He was the one who really convinced me to go for this job y’know? He’s got a few friends in government”-she neglects to say that the closest one is the new Foreign Secretary as she’s not feeling particularly keen to help Amanda right now, not after she’d seen her with Mycroft earlier-“He thought I would be able to do this job easily.” She sounds almost ashamed, Amanda notes, of the fact that she might actually be good at something. 

 

Amanda’s about to pry all the more when Malcolm bursts into the room. “Black Swan there you are,” he says now, as if she’s really made things difficult for him by sitting in her own office. He recoils suddenly, looking ever so slightly like a centipede, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Jesus Christ.” He waves a hand by his nose. “Get a whiff of that. Stinks of oestrogen. I’ll have to inject myself with testosterone just to keep my levels up.”

 

Amanda rolls her eyes. “Yes Malcolm. The women are taking over and not a moment too soon.” She smiles goofily at Molly for a moment in a rare show of light. Molly flushes. “What do you want this time?” Amanda looks back at Malcolm now. 

 

“Get your team together because we need to go over whatever you’ve come up with for your new scheme. The PM wants to hit the ground running with this. He’s very excited to see what you can do to be productive. This is your chance to impress him.”

 

“Or I’ll be fast-tracked out of here,” Amanda voices. 

 

“Of course you will be,” Malcolm says, the opposite of reassuring. He nods at her. “Get those swan legs.” He points underneath her desk. “Waddle up to your team and tell them that they all need to come in here.” 

 

Amanda looks at him. “You see I'm not sure if”-

 

_“Now.”_

 

Amanda nods gravely at Molly who goes to do the honours. 

 

Glenn and Terri enter the room fine, but Malcolm almost shuts the door in John’s face teasingly when the ex-Army doctor tries to hobble in there, still using the aid of his crutch. “No hobbits allowed.”

 

“Yeah, very funny Malcolm,” John takes the words on the chin. 

 

“You think that me trying to keep all of you in jobs is funny do you? The PM wants you all launching this fabulous new idea you’ve got in at most three weeks time. In a month if you’re all up shit creek without a paddle, without a boat even, then you’ll be on the dole and in your case Johnny boy probably eating berries in the countryside once you finally lose yourself. Apparently you’ve been seeing a therapist”-Terri looks at John with interest now-“Or didn't you want that information made public?” Malcolm finally allows him inside. John glares at him. 

 

“Three weeks?” Amanda ignores the information about John and looks up at Malcolm. Quite frankly _she’ll_ be seeing a therapist soon. “That’s barely enough time to do the poster.”

 

“Well, you better hope that one of these lot,” Malcolm nods at Terri, Glenn and John who are now sitting in front of Amanda’s desk, which Molly is leaning on, “Are a wizard with Photoshop then. Though I doubt it.”

 

Amanda swallows. Three weeks to prove that she can do good in this department. Can she do it? Right now she’s not that hopeful. Not when every force seems to be conspiring against her.


	3. End of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the world arrives early.

Two weeks later and Amanda finds herself coming into work after a session of Aerobics, most of her hair tied into a ponytail, whilst a few sweaty strands dangle down across her forehead. 

 

The past few weeks have been stressful. The only good news has been that the police have dropped the investigation. Like Malcolm had said previously the case wasn’t in the public’s interest. They are just glad the information has finally come out. Other than that it’s been late nights and a charge towards the scheme. Trying to keep her focus away from the expenses debacle though there are reminders of it all the time and the press mention her name in every piece-she’s only just got off the front page despite the police thing.   
Finally though, things are starting to come together. Next Thursday they’ll be launching the scheme in front of a press crowd. Hopefully it will give them something else to talk about. Some other reason to mention her name for she’ll be doing a speech. Hopefully there will be positive write-ups about it and her scheme will be able to be developed further. Hope is all she has right now. 

 

That’s why it’s such a disappointment for Amanda to have Molly nervously pointing towards her office in anticipation and for Amanda to find Malcolm there, looking grim as he turns to her. She wipes a hand across her sweaty brow, before she sips at the bottle of water that she’s carrying. 

 

His eyes scan her for a moment. “You’re running out of lives Amanda. I can’t keep getting you out of this.” She sees now that he’s holding a copy of a newspaper to his chest. Amanda feels sick, already sensing what it might contain. He unfurls it, holding it up for her to see. Amanda sees her face splashed beneath the _‘Daily Mail’_ heading. They've got a photo of her looking a little uncertain, mouth all agape in the half-light as she’s half-turned. _‘Will Four There Keep Her There?’_ the headline reads. It’s all very cleverly done she has to admit. _“ ‘Amanda Lane, Minister at the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship, is due to give a speech next Thursday about her new pet scheme’”-_

 

_“ ‘Pet?’”_ Amanda exclaims now. “It’s something that I came up with on the hoof.”

 

Malcolm raises a finger at her, eyes dark, as if she should not dare interrupt him any further. After all it’s how he’s been talking about the scheme, so that she will either live or die by it. _“ ‘Four There. The scheme is about the four lots of requirements that Minister Lane and her team believe should be in place from the very start of a person’s working life. But will it be enough to keep the Minister of Social Affairs and Citizenship employed? Or will there be a new figure added to the unemployment statistics?’”_ Malcolm looks at her. Amanda swallows. “The article goes on to re-hash your fuck up as Foreign Secretary.” Malcolm shifts his position. “Now I know that Terri only put out a limited press release saying that you would be doing a speech next Thursday. It didn't even contain the name of the scheme. So how do you explain the Daily fucking Mail already knowing that and having a summary of what the scheme is about too eh?” 

 

Amanda’s mind feels blank. She feels light and tingly like she’s having an out of body experience. All she can say is, “I _didn't”-_

 

“Well if you didn't”-Malcolm takes her words for granted now. After all he can’t see her shooting herself in the foot after she’s been working so hard-“And I didn't, and if we discount Terri and Glenn who have too much pineapple in their brain to be able to come up with something like this, then that leaves John and Molly.”

 

“Molly wouldn't.” Amanda shakes her head at once. “And I don’t like to think that _John”-_

 

“Well, it had to be one of them,” Malcolm rumbles. “There shouldn't be anyone else who knows about it, excluding your boyfriend.” His face darkens. Amanda gets the sense that if it were up to him then no one that he had to deal with would be in any kind of relationship. 

 

“We’re not,” Amanda gets out, thinking of Mycroft now and how he’s been phoning her on a fairly regular basis, checking in and offering the chance to offload herself. It’s hard to tell exactly _what_ they are these days. They haven’t kissed or done anything as dramatic as that. They've barely seen one another or had any contact despite the phone calls, and yet, though Amanda feels initially on guard and they both feel a bit sore about their shared history-that much is evident by the long pauses-something about having Mycroft down the phone, humming and ready to listen to her, pulls everything bad out of her like a magnet and makes her release information that she usually wouldn't. It’s like there might still be an opportunity there for them and Amanda’s not sure how she feels about that. “We've been very open.” Her mind finally catches up with the present again and Malcolm looks at her intently now. She flushes. “The scheme I mean,” Amanda says, just in case he thinks that both Mycroft’s and her feelings have been on show for all to see. “Talking about it. Everyone on this floor has probably heard us discussing some details or other. I’ve been going back and for to see how everyone’s been getting on.”

 

Malcolm sighs deeply. “Come on then.” He moves past her now. She follows. The two come to stand alongside each other just outside her office. “Right you lot. If I could have your attention then?” Malcolm claps his hands. Amanda jumps. Malcolm smirks in satisfaction. “You may or may not have heard that unfortunately we’ve had some information made public this morning about your minister Amanda Lane’s”-he waves a hand at her-“ ‘Four There’ scheme. I’d like for you to all personally hear what I’ve got to say, so John get your arse away from the water cooler, Glenn stop daydreaming about being cool it’s never going to happen, Goldilocks stop chewing”-Molly stops mid-chew through her fruit bar-“And Terri stop gluing pictures of Peter Mannion into your scrapbook for a moment would you?” Terri frowns with displeasure. John scuttles back to his desk awkwardly, balancing the paper cup of water and crutch with both of his hands, whilst Glenn blinks and Molly accidentally swallows. She starts coughing in the next moment and underneath Malcolm’s glare Amanda hurries across and taps her friend on the back hard. Molly recovers a moment later and looks up at her out of blinking eyes. 

 

“You saved my life,” she breathes. 

 

_“Nonsense.”_ Amanda flushes, smiling a little awkwardly at her now, before she re-takes her place by Malcolm. 

 

“Well,” he glances at her, “Shame the PM couldn't have seen a video of that, but at least we know if you fail here then there’s a job for you as a first aider somewhere.” Once again Amanda feels hot beneath the collar. Malcolm takes a step forwards now. Amanda eyes him apprehensively. “If I ever hear that more information has got out or find out, which one of you has been leaking it in the first place then I will personally make sure that, that person is not only sacked, but that they’re on a short-list for an operation where they have all their organs removed and strung up like one of those paper dolls that you see all the kiddies making.” He stops for breath, nostrils flaring. “Is that clear?” There’s a mumbling of agreement as no one dares make eye contact with Malcolm whose eyes sweep across everyone, as if he’s a bomb detector. “Good.” He turns to Amanda. “Don’t fuck this one up.” He looks away again and strides through the double-doors without a backward glance. 

 

John’s the first to recover. “Well we’ll just have to do a good job then and hope that there are no more leaks.”

 

“It does feel like we've only got a bit longer to live though doesn’t it?” Terri says, before she changes tack. “Well, all of you anyway. Not me. I’ll still be here. Civil servant and all.”

 

“If everyone could carry on with their work?” Amanda calls across now. She turns to go back inside her office just as she hears Terri asking the others what three things they’d do if they only had one day left to live. She closes the door behind her and glides across to sit down behind her desk, thinking hard. With Malcolm gone she can now muse over the matter of the leaks more logically and with less panic inside her. She dismisses Molly at once. She’s far too sweet natured to do such a thing. No matter what Malcolm had said she doesn’t know Terri or Glenn as well, _and_ no matter what _she’d_ said she can’t exactly rule out John either. He _has_ been working hard on the thing, but then whoever’s doing this might feel the need to do such a thing out of guilt or in an attempt to excuse themselves from suspicion. Besides, he’s not long since been back from the war. It could be that he’s still struggling with what he saw out there and feels the need to take revenge against the government in any way he can. It’s certainly possible. Glenn seems so pleased to still have a place in the department even if she can tell that he doesn’t much enjoy working beneath Terri. But he’s been doing his best to come up with ideas and assist wherever he can. She can’t see it being _him._ Terri meanwhile might have a loose mouth, but there’s something beneath that mask that’s like that of a snobby professional who thinks that she knows more than anyone. For all that she makes out that she doesn’t care Amanda’s sure that she wouldn't want her reputation dented. Sure too that none of them would want to undo any of their hard work, unless it really is John and he’s not in his right mind. Still, Amanda has no proof that it _is_ him and so it’s all very puzzling. The only real explanation she can come up with is the same as what she’d just given Malcolm. That it’s someone who had overheard something and who doesn’t very much care for the department. She’d love to root them out and stop what they’re doing. Put a halt to this sabotage. She puts her pen down, mind whirring through the entirety of her conversation with Malcolm. There’s no one she’s overlooking is there? There’s Mycroft of course. Her mind hesitates on going over the verge of that deep thought now. He wouldn't though would he? No matter how hurt he still feels about what she might have done or said in the past when it came down to it he would not behave in such a boorish manner. Not attempt to sabotage the bit of career that she’s still clinging onto, albeit one-handedly. Even though he hadn’t protested about her change in role, and she’s still not sure whether she can discount that this is his punishment for her, when it came down to it he would not want to take things quite so far would he? But then, even as she’s thinking that thought with an increased heart rate, it’s like Mycroft’s bulk moves aside in her brain to reveal a shorter man-Richard Brook. Molly’s boyfriend. It hits her suddenly now. She turns her head. Looks through the glass at Molly. For a moment it’s as if everything plunges inside her and then re-arranges itself again. She finds her sweaty hand picking up the phone on her desk and dialling a number that, even now, her mind hasn’t allowed her to quite forget. 

 

“Mycroft Holmes speaking,” comes the slightly harried voice of her ex-boyfriend down the line. Unbeknownst to her he’s walking quickly down a corridor. 

 

“Mycroft hi”-

 

_“Mandy-_ Amanda I mean,” he corrects himself, voice choked with surprise. Even though they have been in more contact recently he has been the one whose been making the first move. 

 

“Yes, sorry to disturb you. I'm sure you’re very busy”-

 

“On my way to a meeting actually,” he says. 

 

“Yes. I just wanted to check-you heard about the information that got out this morning?” 

 

“Yes I did. I was sorry to hear about it,” Mycroft’s voice goes soft now. He does sound genuinely sorry. It makes her feel a little bit better. That is until he adds, “Listen Amanda, I’d be willing to talk to you more about this later, but I don’t have much time to right now.”

 

“No, of course not,” Amanda is breezily agreeable, before she can’t help, but blurt out, “It’s just that you don’t think its got something to do with that journalist that’s been following you around do you?” She feels a pang in her chest for a moment now as she thinks of Molly. But then she goes on regardless, “All the leaks that have been happening. You don’t think that he could be behind them?”

 

Mycroft’s heart leaps in panic inside his chest now and he stops his journey down the corridor suddenly. Said journalist Richard Brook bangs into the back of him. Mycroft turns slowly around to see the man raising both of his hands and backing off. As ever there’s a piece of gum caught in his mouth. Mycroft studies him to see if he’s worked anything out about him. Luckily for him although those brown eyes glitter back at him there are no signs that Richard-he insists on calling him Richard until he knows for sure-has detected anything. He continues to look at the man though as he says into his phone a little distractedly, “Like I’ve said we’ll speak more about this later, but I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself. Try not to worry and we’ll speak soon.” It’s the most that he can say in front of a possible culprit, but he still feels uneasy from having to leave Amanda on that note. If she’s onto the trail of the journalist he knows that he’ll have to act now. 

 

“But I _do_ worry,” Amanda says insistently to herself as Mycroft disconnects at the other end. 

 

_“Problem?”_ Richard Brook asks, looking at Mycroft intently. Mycroft watches as the piece of gum moves from one side of his mouth to the other. 

 

“Not in the slightest.” Mycroft turns away, but all throughout the meeting his mind thinks. By the end of it he’s agitated from the desire to phone Sherlock-as much as it agonizes him to send his brother into the fray he can’t very well let any harm come to Amanda either and this seems the lesser of the two evils. The action that will be most likely in his mind to produce a good result. He sends Richard away on a foolish errand. Then he phones Sherlock who’s gleeful to finally be let off the lead that Mycroft has tried to keep him on. Mycroft warns him to be sensible. To not get ahead of himself. Then he phones Malcolm to discreetly suggest that he allow Sherlock, ‘who is very perceptive and might be able to help,’ to find the person responsible for leaking the information. Of course what in actual fact he’ll be doing is trying to find anything they can use to prove Richard Brook is not who he says he is. Then he tells Richard upon his return to meet him at Westminster, so that he himself can go and see Amanda more privately. The fact that Richard does not protest or ask any irritating questions about where he’s going like he usually does, makes Mycroft’s brain ring with even more alarm bells, as if the fire alarm is going off inside his mind palace. He finds himself feeling twitchy and nervous as he makes his way to Amanda’s office. Finds himself wanting to look back over his shoulder on numerous occasions, but forces himself to face the front instead. If Richard, or any of his associates are watching, then he does not want to give them something to smile about. 

 

Amanda’s on the phone when he arrives. He brushes Molly away and closes the door in her face. He catches Amanda’s eyes narrowing and waits impatiently for her to finish. Once she does he tells her, “I’ve come around to give you a bollocking.”

 

_“Excuse me?”_ She raises an eyebrow at him, half-getting up from her chair. He feels a shiver of desire inside him for a moment, but brushes it away with an irritated mind. He beckons for her to sit down again. “I will not.” She stands properly. 

 

“Malcolm’s orders. He did not seem to think that you quite got how serious this all is this morning.” 

 

“Of course I did!” Amanda is furious and flustered now. “Do you honestly think that I don’t? That I'm having the time of my life here? I know that I’ll probably be sacked. More than likely if one more thing that’s out of my control comes out because the PM will decide that he doesn’t want to deal with the hassle that’s following me around. I get it! I care! And despite what you told me earlier I _do_ worry! This is my job! This is other people’s jobs! And I wish you’d try to see that instead of following Malcolm’s orders like you’re his puppy for a change.” 

 

Mycroft’s expression darkens. “It might surprise you, but I am acting, right this very moment in fact.” She looks at him-part suspicion, part puzzlement. “Needless to say,” Mycroft goes on, only shifting his position very slightly, “It might benefit you to hear what I have not come to tell you.” She looks at him, pure bafflement now. Relishing that for once he has got the upper hand he goes on, “I have not come here to tell you that you should not make the suggestion you did earlier to anyone else.” Amanda’s eyebrow pops up now. “Not come around here to tell you to be on your guard and not rouse anybody else’s suspicions. Instead I have come to tell you that the suggestion you made is absolutely ludicrous and absurd. What would Brook have to gain from it all? He works for a rival paper. It would make no sense. He would be shooting himself in the foot as much as you would be if you were the one who was leaking the current information. Why is it only wherever you are that the leaks are occurring when he has been around many government departments? You do not know one another. He has no reason, as far as I'm aware, to target you.” Amanda shakes her head to indicate that she cannot see a connection between herself and Brook either. “Are we clear about what I'm telling you?” Looking a little apprehensive Amanda nods now. Mycroft leans forward, the coolness of his fingers wrapping around the skin of her warm wrist. She shivers slightly. Makes a little gurgling noise. “Be on guard Amanda,” he murmurs into her ear. “It is being handled. You will receive help soon I promise, but be on guard.” 

 

“Quite. Well, thank you Mycroft.” Amanda steps back now, adjusting her jacket, as their eyes study each other. Amanda tries to make herself look even more wretched than she feels, as if she has received quite the telling off and not been made fearful just in case there is anybody watching. But, _‘Is Molly in danger?’_ her eyes seem to ask. Mycroft doesn’t respond. She rakes a hand through her hair. “I knew it was quite a long shot I guess,” she finishes their pretend conversation. “Knew it was probably my over-active imagination.” He quirks an eyebrow at her now, as if to say that she doesn’t _have_ an imagination. She smiles. Feels an urge to say, “Earlier”- 

 

_“Yes?”_ He senses from the way that her hands are twisting around one another now that they have moved on from matters of Richard Brook and onto something more pleasant. The anticipation makes his throat dry. 

 

“The others were talking about what three things they might do if it were their last day on earth.”

 

“And what did _you_ say?”

 

“Oh, well it wasn’t really a question that was directed my way, but I guess if I did then a part of me might want”-

 

_“Yes?”_ Mycroft’s more eager still. 

 

“To finally loosen up at work, try and wear something beautiful and be that swan for one last time _and…_ have one last meal with you,” she says with a bold shyness about her now. 

 

“Then why don’t we? At the weekend? After all,” he adds as Amanda stares at him, “It might not be the end of the world, but there is an odd feeling in the air in the moment.” He’d like to keep an eye on her too. 

 

Slowly she smiles. “I’d like that.”

 

*

Amanda looks up Richard Brook when she gets home. It would have felt wrong to do so at work, even though she had her back to the wall and had checked over her shoulder numerous times. But he seems extraordinary normal. He likes football. He goes down the pub. There doesn’t seem to be any point where their timelines could have intersected. He spends the odd amount of time bird watching. He’s even taken some shots of birds in discreet nooks around the city, as well as some more familiar haunts-a pigeon in Trafalgar Square, a raven by the Tower of London-and posted them on Twitter. He seems to always have his camera with him and takes the odd shot of people on the Tube-with their permission of course, he’s keen to add. Most seem to be of beautiful women. [He describes himself as being, _‘a woefully single man trying to make his way in the world,’_ on his Twitter page.] A lot of those women are of Asian descent. She wonders for a moment if _that’s_ why he’s latched onto her. Maybe he’s got it into his head that she could be one of his Tube girls. Maybe all he wants is to have a photo with her, make her the jewel of his collection. But she still feels ill at ease. Looking him up just seems to have added more questions to the ones that she’s already got rather than answering any, and, as she shuts her laptop down and puts it to the side of her on the settee, she makes the decision, just like that, not to tell Mycroft about the Twitter page. He probably already knows about it of course, but if he doesn’t then she doesn’t want him getting alarmed from the sight of all the Asian women that are on there. Doesn't want him trying to put a security detail on her. He’d tried to do that to her before once. They’d rowed about it. She was already partially protected because of her role in the government. She had a driver and if at an event then there were people there who would mind her. That was all she needed. 

 

That doesn’t stop her though from wondering about the man’s motives, _or_ from getting angry on Molly’s behalf. That sweet girl should be more than enough for him, but Richard obviously has a wandering eye. She wonders if she should tell Molly. It puts her in a bit of a difficult position either way. Molly might not believe that he could be the one responsible for all this hassle or might even blow up at her if she were to show her the Twitter page. Think she were being cruel. 

 

She’s still wondering and getting worked up about such a thing when the night of her ‘end of the world’ dinner with Mycroft arrives. As she looks at herself in the wardrobe mirror, turning this way and that, she can barely take in the red floor length dress that she’s gone for-they’d both liked the way it had looked on her once-her matching heels, embedded with fake rubies and the oval shaped bun of hair that is flung down the back of her neck. All she can think of is Richard and Molly. 

 

“Oh to hell with it,” she says now, grabbing viciously at the bun that had taken an age to do and tugging it free. Shaking her hair out she looks at herself in a more satisfied way. She kicks off her heels and has just pushed one strap off her shoulder when she hears the knock on the front door. Cursing she half makes to pull the strap back up again, before she decides to forget about it. What does it matter at the end of the day? One strap isn’t going to make her look much less of a mess. Mycroft has seen her in worse states after all. Turning without a backward glance she makes her way to the door. 

 

She feels a little guilty for not bothering though as soon as she sees Mycroft. He’s dressed in one of his more expensive grey and brown checked suits, a pale grey waistcoat with dark black buttons. In his breast pocket there lies a white handkerchief that’s dotted with red roses. He even carries a single one in his hand and looks completely earnest, his hair brushed as immaculately as ever. 

 

When he spies her-he has to look down quite a way now since she is bare footed-he begins to frown at her state of disorder. “Has the end of the world come already?” he asks. “Am I too late?” He lowers the rose. 

 

“I think it might have done yes,” she’s apologetic now and winces, before she turns around. “We can’t exactly go out and have a fun time, whilst Molly might be with God knows what type of man.”

 

“Could I at least see how you might have looked _had_ we gone out?” Mycroft is hopeful although in an odd way he is relieved about not having to put on as much of pretence for her. He does still want to keep an eye on her though. Make sure that she hasn’t been doing anything she shouldn't be. 

 

Defiantly though Amanda releases the other strap free from her shoulder. Mycroft’s breath shudders inside his chest. Amanda huffs a little, before she stomps on the spot. “I need your help with the zipper,” she informs him. 

 

“Do you want it to go down or up?” 

 

_“Myc.”_ She’s exasperated with him, though she does not look away quickly enough to avoid Mycroft seeing the small smile that toys about her lips. 

 

Mycroft releases a bit of a sigh and moves forwards, taking a bit of a detour to lay the rose down on the arm of the settee, before he makes his way behind her. “I'm just saying,” he’s casual, though his brain is stuffed with thought, as he draws the zipper down, “That right now, no matter what we do, we can’t do much to help Molly.” He stares at the marks on her skin now, eyes drinking them all in and unfurling the map of her in his mind. It’s like he’s found spots of water in a sandy desert. 

 

Amanda is silent for a moment. “We could tell her.” She steps away from him and wriggles her dress down to her hips, before she pushes it to the floor completely.

 

_“Mandy!”_ Mycroft is surprised. A bolder man might have made use of the opportunity. Had sex with her just as a great distraction for them both, but he can’t go through with it. Can’t take advantage of her in that way and risk spoiling anything that might still be between them. He cares for her too much to use her like that without being sure that, that’s definitely what she wants in the first place. 

 

She wouldn't normally be so brazen to strip in front of people, not even ones that she’d once dated, but she’s distracted now. Besides, “It’s nothing that you haven’t seen before.” She looks over her shoulder at him. 

 

His eyes seem torn between looking and not looking. She doesn’t seem to mind, but then again he’d always like to try and be a gentleman if he can. He ends up staring at a spot just past her shoulder instead, cheeks red with his effort. “I know, but we’re not together any more. Its been seven months now. _Over_ that.” 

 

“Yes.” She looks away again. He misses the regret in her eyes and feels more comfortable when she disappears into her bedroom, carrying the dress now over her shoulder. “I suppose it has been.” He hears her shuffling about and moves to sit in a perched like fashion upon the settee. His fingers toy with the plastic wrapping of the rose, dipping inside it, before they flick at it. “Sorry,” she says once she comes back out just a few moments later, now wearing a more comfortable orange turtle-neck, dark jeans, spotty socks and loose shoes. She walks around to him, combing a hand through her hair. “I suppose that was a little inappropriate of me.”

 

“You’re forgiven.” Mycroft’s cheeks tinge pink. “Maybe I shouldn't have brought this?” He nudges at the rose now. 

 

“No, it’s nice,” She smiles and takes it. “Thank you.” She pecks him on the cheek. “It’s just that I can’t concentrate on anything else, not with all this going on y’know?” she tries to explain further as she takes the rose to the kitchenette. She drops it on one of the counters, whilst she rinses out a vase and fills it with water. 

 

Mycroft is silent throughout the noise of the tap, but once it’s gone off again he says, “Maybe the distraction of going somewhere else would have been good for you though? Especially with the speech that’s coming up on Thursday. You-well-forgive me for saying so, but I think you seem to be getting a little”-

 

“I’m not obsessed.” Amanda senses where he’s going with this and is at once made defensive.

 

“No.” Mycroft scratches first at his nose and then behind his ear. “That’s not perhaps the word that I would have used”- even though it exactly was. He might have also said that it’s like how someone threatening Molly has made Amanda suddenly realize her value to her, but she’s coming around to stand in front of him now and she looks angry, so he says instead, _“Listen_ …I didn't come to argue with you.” He avoids her eyes. “That wasn’t the purpose of tonight.”

 

“What was then?” 

 

He looks up at her exasperatedly. “I don’t know. Maybe to have a nice glass of wine somewhere, make a toast to the end of the world….” He stands up. Maybe find out exactly how she feels about Molly. Protect her. Make love to her one last time because he’s getting sure now that’s that what it will be. 

 

“Well I'm sorry.” She waves her hands. “But the end of the world is here. It’s fucking here Mycroft and neither of us can bury our heads in the sand about it. We need to be dealing with it.” He hesitates. Does some quick licking of his lips. _“Oh.”_ She recognizes _that_ look. “Am I perhaps switching on when you want to switch off?”-

 

_“Mandy”-_

 

“Because that was always my problem wasn’t it?” she says now, before she adds, “And _don’t_ call me Mandy.” 

 

“Well don’t shout at me then. All I wanted was for us to have a nice meal together. For me to pay for us to have god-damned dinner. For us to _not_ hate one another. Was that too much to ask?” She breathes in and out heavily, eyes still dark. “Apparently it was.” He heads to the door.

 

“You hate me?” 

 

He stops at her words. “No,” he says regretfully now, “But it feels like sometimes I should, what with how you seem to feel about me sometimes.” He continues towards the door. 

 

“Where are you going?” she calls after him. 

 

He pauses, arm outstretched towards the door. “I'm going home,” he breathes as levelly as he can. “I'm going because I did not want tonight to end up in this way. I hoped it might be pleasant, nice even. I did not want this.” 

 

She knows then. Knows that he’d started to think that they could have something nice again too. Knows that, that thought is fading from his mind now and it scares her. Suddenly in that moment she doesn’t want to lose him all over again. _“Myc,”_ she calls, as his hand touches at the door. _“Please_ Myc wait.” He releases a long sigh now. His fingers slide from the door. Still he does not turn around to look at her. “I'm scared,” she confesses, the sight of him at the door forcing her into honesty. “I'm scared and I don’t hate you. I'm going through hell at work. After this coming week I’ll probably be without a job. I haven’t been not working since I left university. And if I lose this job then I don’t think it will be _all_ my fault. I don’t know what to do. I can’t stop the leaks because I don’t know who’s doing them. If it is Richard Brook then I don’t know _why_ he would be. The only thing I can come up with is that in his warped head he thinks that there’s something going on between us because he posts loads of photos of Asian women on Twitter.” This is a time for being honest Amanda senses, for not hiding, but Mycroft inhales sharply. He’d known about the Twitter page-that was another reason why he’d felt the need to keep an eye on Amanda this weekend-but he hadn’t known that she knew. He’d thought that not knowing would be the best thing for her. That it would protect her. Make her less worried. “And if it _is_ him then that makes me worried about Molly. Is he manipulating her? Trying to use her to get to me? Whatever the case is it looks like he’s being unfaithful to her and that will break her heart in the long run. I don’t want her to get hurt. She’s good and kind to me, to everyone. I don’t want anything bad happening to her.” Her voice catches now. It pulls at the strings of Mycroft’s heart even though the end of Amanda’s world revolves around something bad happening to Molly and not him. “I know I made a mistake with the USB.” Amanda sniffs. “I know that I handled that completely wrong. I should have told Malcolm. Should have told _you._ I know I got things about our relationship wrong too. Know that I messed up. Know that I hurt you. If I could take all that back and make you realize just how worried I am right now then I would. I’d _make_ you care for me”-

 

“You don’t have to _make_ me care for you,” Mycroft breathes, because he does so anyway. 

 

_“Good,_ because if it’s the end of the world then I want to spend part of it with you.” He swivels around. Her eyes are shiny and bright, but she looks at him hopefully. “How about it?” 

 

His brow softens. “All right.” He strides over there and takes her carefully in his arms now. She pushes her head against his chest, taking comfort from the life that she can hear going on beneath it. “But I don’t want you trying to figure this out any more. You shouldn't even have looked him up”-

 

_“I”-_ She pulls her head away from his heart beat. 

 

“It was reckless of you. What if you had found out something that had made you all the more worried about Molly? What if you’d confronted him or tried to talk to her about it? I don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with here, but I _will_ find out. I'm sending Sherlock in.” He brushes her hair back and taps at her nose. “No more investigating or trying to find out anything by yourself all right? I couldn't bear it if anything were to happen to you.”

 

“Even though we’re not together any more?”

 

His anxious face softens now, as if to say that she’s got him. “Even more so _because_ of that. That’s why I wanted things to go well tonight. I don’t want us to be on bad terms, or even indifferent to another any more. I want us to feel as if we can speak to one another freely. Tell one another our problems.”

 

Amanda releases a long sigh. “But I want Molly to be safe too,” she says wistfully. Mycroft feels a chink inside his heart. 

 

“If she is in danger then Sherlock will find out and together we can work out a plan to remove the threat from her. You know that I wouldn't want her to be in any danger after what Mummy went through.” Amanda nods now. She knows that Mycroft’s mother Violet had been abused by her husband, before the two of them had finally split up with Violet getting custody of the kids. Mycroft had tried to not let Sherlock see what was going on with their parents, but both boys had been scarred by it all and its haunted the pair of them as men. “But I can’t guarantee that she won’t be in any danger if you go meddling in the mean time.” Mycroft is careful, but firm. He can’t risk anything happening to her. 

 

Amanda thinks about it for a moment, before she relents and nods. “All right.” He pecks at her hair and squeezes at her securely. His hand brushes against her top and causes a knee-jerk reaction in her. “I _can’t”-_ she steps back now. 

 

“I know.” He decides that it will be best for him to go. “I will see you on Monday.” He nods and then departs. 

 

*

 

Sherlock Holmes walks into the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship like he does everywhere else-as if he owns the place. His blue-green eyes roam across Glenn first. Then Terri who has escorted him up there, but is still trying to establish if he needs anything. He ignores both of them and moves further inside the department. His eyes land on Molly. “Hello,” he says, doing a bit of a double-take. 

 

His deep baritone causes a reaction he finds most gleeful inside of her. She jumps and then her cheeks flush crimson as her brown eyes come to look at him. _“Sherlock.”_

 

“Good to see you again.” He nods, just as Amanda, hearing the commotion from inside her office, glances their way. Her face changes when she sees Sherlock and she hurries outside her office. Her heart, for the first time since last Saturday with Mycroft, feels hope inside it. 

 

“Sorry, but do you two know one another?” John says to Molly and the newcomer. 

 

“Yes.” Sherlock turns his beady eyes on John now, not noticing how Molly swallows repeatedly and looks suddenly anxious as he takes in the crutch with a slight smirk upon his face. Nobody will notice as Molly shuts herself in the Ladies Toilets later, _or_ hear as she sits on the lid of the toilet, breathing in and out sharply and trying not to cry. “I'm a consulting-detective.” John’s mouth drops open now to ask the most obvious of questions. “It means that when the police are stuck, which they always are, then they turn to me.” 

 

John snorts. “The police don’t consult amateurs,” he says, as if he knows it all. 

 

Sherlock stands up even straighter at that and Amanda winces at what she knows is coming. “Afghanistan wasn’t it? You came back home with a limp that your therapist is most correct about I’m afraid. It _is_ psychosomatic. You don’t need a crutch.” 

 

“You’ve been talking to Malcolm or someone here.” John looks around now, remembering how Malcolm had leaked that he was seeing a therapist. 

 

Sherlock steps forward with a quiet authority about him. “Give me your phone if you don’t believe me.”

 

John hands it over with suspicious eyes, as if Sherlock might be about to set it on fire in a magic trick gone wrong. He really can’t afford a new one. Sherlock feels the weight of the phone and studies it for a mere moment, before he looks back up at John again and says, “A gift, as evident by the engraving that’s on the back of it. You probably got it from your brother after his divorce. He split up with her I'm taking because otherwise he would have wanted to keep it. Sentimental value, though don’t ask me why. His drink problem was probably a factor in their separation. You never see a drunk’s phone without the little scratches that are on the back like the ones that are on yours and you’re far too careful with far too little money to be keeping it recklessly. Am I right?” He hands the phone back to John now who looks astonished by all that he has said. 

 

“Wrong about one thing, but that was pretty incredible Sherlock.” John absent-mindedly shoves his phone back inside his pocket now. 

 

“What was I wrong about?” Sherlock looks immediately irritated. 

 

Amanda watches the scene with a fondness in her eyes. She’d forgotten how much she missed Mycroft’s brother. His mother too actually who had always been so eager to hear from her. You don’t just split up with one person. You break up with their entire family. 

 

“Harry is short for Harriet,” John reveals now. Amanda thinks that he should really savour this moment. It’s not often that one finds themselves with more information than Sherlock Holmes. 

 

“The _sister!”_ Sherlock seethes. 

 

_“Sherlock?”_ Amanda calls now with a roll of her eyes, before he can go too over the top about things. 

 

He turns, a smile lighting up his face. “Mandy. Mandy. Mandy.” He opens his arms wide for a hug. She accepts. 

 

“You know it’s just Amanda, Sherlock,” she tells him off, voice half-muffled by the dark coat that he always insists on wearing. “Thanks for doing this by the way,” she murmurs, before they pull away from one another. 

 

“Well, after you released the Pandora’s box of the expenses crisis on everyone it would be nice to keep some secrets safe now wouldn't it?” He observes her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. She rolls her own and blushes a little at Sherlock being Sherlock. “As for your earlier question”-Sherlock’s attention goes to John once more-“Molly used to take care of the bodies being brought to St. Barts”-

 

“Got a lot of corpses in here,” comes a familiar voice now as Malcolm strides onto the scene. He pretends to be all innocent as he looks at Molly. “Why did you never tell us that you were a wiz with corpses Goldilocks? Maybe you can bring them all back to life? Starting with this one.” He nods at Amanda. _“Oh,_ here comes Daddy Bear,” he adds as Mycroft, followed by Richard Brook-who Sherlock looks at with a suppressed intrigue-walks behind him. It’s odd, but Amanda feels a little relieved from seeing Mycroft. She tries not to look at Richard Brook in an odd way when his eyes roam across her, not wanting to give the game away. “Come to see Mummy Bear no doubt. They have an adopted cub called John.”

 

Sherlock snickers, more at Mycroft’s involvement in the remark than anything else, but John still frowns. Amanda flushes. 

 

“You’re one to talk with your… _‘Gromit’_ eyebrows,” Mycroft says, determined to say something to protect Amanda when he sees her face. Even though it endears him to be paired with her. 

 

Malcolm places an exaggerated hand upon his hip and peers up at the man. “Is that the best you’ve got? Comparing me to a dog made from plasticine?”

 

“They should do a double-act,” Glenn murmurs underneath his breath. 

 

“Could call them the ‘M and M’s,’” John agrees. 

 

“Oh, I could murder a bag of _‘M and M’s’_ right now,” Terri says loudly. 

 

“Best not to with a consulting-detective in the room,” Sherlock tells her, reminding them all of his presence. 

 

“What’s been going on lately though isn’t exactly a crime is it?” John questions. 

 

“It’s close enough to one,” Malcolm moans, clutching at his head. “I wouldn't have been caused more of a headache if the lot of you had been murdered.”

 

“Good to know,” John jokes. 

 

“My brother’s doing me a favour,” Mycroft intervenes. He looks at Sherlock in a piercing fashion now and Amanda knows that Mycroft’s using this as a way of Sherlock paying him back for all the worry that his drug abusing habit has caused him over the years. _“Aren’t_ you?” Sherlock nods. 

 

They have to contend though with John spluttering, “Your _brother?”_

 

“Yes.” Mycroft’s gaze is dark. He hates having to answer questions to people who are beneath him. _Especially_ about family. 

 

“So, er”- John looks between Amanda, Mycroft and Sherlock. It is only Sherlock who seems to understand him. 

 

Amanda’s brow furrows and Mycroft’s eyes narrow, but Sherlock says, “Quite honestly I try not to think about who my brother lowers his trousers for. If I did then I’d break out in hives. Rather like Mycroft once did.” He chuckles. 

 

_“You”-_ Amanda’s head whips towards Mycroft now. 

 

“I-nothing. I had nothing.” Mycroft chivvies her back inside her office. Before he closes the door behind him however he calls back to Sherlock, “Behave brother mine.”

 

“But you must have had chicken pox at some point?” Amanda teases him when he looks back at her. 

 

“German measles actually. When I was a small boy.” His face softens. “It’s good to see you smiling again, but is everything all right? You haven’t dropped any hint to Molly as _to-?_

 

“No, no.” Amanda shakes her head now, before she grows quieter. She looks through the glass at her friend. “I think I’ve been treating her as normal actually.” _‘Normal’_ would usually be a good thing, but ever since she’s thought that the culprit might be Richard Brook and been turning over Molly’s recent behaviour in her mind she thinks that she should have intervened sooner. After all she’d had _more_ than a prickling sensation that there was something going on with Molly, but ignored it and moved on. Hadn't thought much of it. Now she wishes that she had. Though she doesn’t know what she would have done with such information. Would she have tried to escape it like she had with the USB or faced up to it? 

 

“Good.” Mycroft, not getting it, looks relieved now. _“Good._ Just keep it that”- Mycroft breaks off as Malcolm enters the room. 

 

“This is your last fucking chance. Do you understand me?” Malcolm points his finger at Amanda. She wishes that he’d just go away. “This story has to be quashed. If he doesn’t succeed”-he points through the glass at Sherlock now-“And believe me he’s only here because I'm running out of options as to know what to do with you fucking lot”-he gives a warning eye to Mycroft-“Then you’re out of here because unless the reporter who’s following this one around”-Mycroft and Amanda both inhale at the same time as trying to dodge Malcolm’s spit-“Writes a fucking fairytale about this place where everyone is a good role model and everything is ticking smoothly it won’t be enough for you. Do you understand? There are no villains here.” 

 

Amanda glances at Mycroft, wondering if they should break the news to Malcolm about how they suspect the _‘Sun’_ journalist is less than pristine himself and more than likely a villain. Mycroft shakes his head discreetly at her. Amanda looks back at Malcolm and nods. 

 

*

 

Outside the room Sherlock’s just finished explaining how he’d deduced all those things about John to the ex-soldier. “I'm going to need an assistant,” he adds, “Preferably someone who knows things about this place, but is still able to see it from the perspective of an outsider. It might be invaluable to me.” He also needs someone he can question discreetly about Richard Brook, but he doesn’t say that right now. Glenn looks blank. Terri shrugs. Sherlock thankfully however has already decided on who it will be. His eyes go back to John. “You haven’t been here long have you?” John shakes his head, keeping his wariness to himself about what investigating with Sherlock might involve. “You’ll do,” Sherlock informs him, “Though you might want to speak up more. No point in me having a mannequin as an assistant.” John’s mouth opens in mock outrage, but no actual words come out. Sherlock grins. He doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, but he has a good feeling about this one. 

 

*

 

Mycroft is rather surprised to find his brother talking intently to the ex-soldier when he comes out of Amanda’s office, _but,_ simply making a mental note of the information inside his head he walks away again. 

 

*

 

John’s face lights up when Sherlock walks in that Tuesday morning. He can’t help it. Yesterday when they’d gone on to speak to various people on that floor, not in a questioning manner-though Sherlock had wanted to do it that way at first-but more, at John’s advice, in a casual way so they could get Sherlock having a feel for the place, he’d continued to be in awe of the younger man who seemed to quite easily produce facts about everyone whose working there. Facts that John wouldn't have known otherwise like how the man on the desk diagonally across from him lives alone going by the shaving foam that’s on his neck and last night’s tomato sauce stain around his mouth. Apparently he doesn’t wash much either. John had snickered at that. Not to be cruel. Though it was pretty awful behaviour he had to admit, but just because Sherlock really made things more interesting. 

 

“That woman over there, the one sitting by Molly,” Sherlock points now and John can practically see Molly’s ears twitching at hearing Sherlock saying her name, “She has twenty-three cats and has to pop home from work twice a day just to check up on them.”

 

John catches himself smiling too wide. 

 

_“John?”_ Amanda calls from her office. John manages to tuck his smile away as he looks at her. “I know that you’re helping Sherlock out, but can you try and make sure that you’re getting some work done too? We can’t afford for anything to slip before Thursday.” John nods now, but takes more pleasure from continuing to speak to people with Sherlock than from anything that occurs at his desk. Amanda can see it and keeps looking at them. She’s not worried about the lack of work being done although she probably should be. It’s more about how her own dreams and loneliness rear their heads with a fervent pang whenever she hears John laughing at something that Sherlock has said. It makes a voice whisper in her ear, _‘There’s more to life than all this.’_ She tries to shrug it off though, just like she always has done, because she needs to work, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect. 

 

*

 

Late Wednesday afternoon just as John and Sherlock are making their way companionably down the stairs together at the end of another working day Sherlock asks quietly, “Plans for tonight?” 

 

John pretends to think about that for a moment. “Probably not writing my blog and eating a takeaway meal for one. _You?”_

 

Sherlock’s eyes are looking at the wall ahead. “Detective Inspector Lestrade wanted me to look into something. _Robbery._ You could come along if you want. Might be a late one, but we might be able to catch the man in the act.” He needs to get John on side more, so that he can ask him a few questions about Brook and any interaction he may have had with him, whilst his brother had been too busy fawning over Amanda. John may have noticed something that will be different to what he has. Something that might shed a new light on it and lead to a new line of enquiry where they can quite easily prove that Brook isn’t who he says he is. He thinks that line might be whatever the connection is between Amanda and Moriarty. That why he is picking on her might be the answer. That’s why he needs to ask John about Amanda too. He’s already questioned his brother extensively about her, but Mycroft seems clueless. It’s possible then that Amanda might have made some stray comment to her employees that will lead them to where they want to go. His questioning mustn't be obvious though and Sherlock isn’t asking him to go with him because he’s actually enjoying the man’s company. Of course he isn’t. 

 

John thinks about it. Not particularly about the evening of non-fun that he could be missing out on, but about his crutch and the fact that he doesn’t know how far they could be going. Plus he has work tomorrow. But part of him knows that he’s been listening to reason for far too long and so finally he shakes it off. “All right,” he agrees. 

 

Sherlock looks satisfied. A hint of a smile curls up by his cheek. 

 

*

 

“More leaks. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Amanda paces back and forth in her office like a caged tiger she’d once seen at a zoo that she’d gone to with her parents. It is Thursday now. In the previous few days there have been no leaks. She’d started to think that if it _was_ Richard he’d gotten intimidated by the fact that Sherlock was openly investigating the whole thing. Obviously that is not now the case. “Fucking hell.” How is she meant to rely on the same man who’s probably destroying her to save her job by writing a good piece about the place? She loses it now, swinging around and pushing a thin folder that contains her speech off her desk. Everything seems to be against her. 

 

_“Minister?”_ It’s John. He’d been watching her movements with Terri, Glenn and Molly. Sherlock’s doing something else today-the consulting detective had told him that Mycroft, not wanting Amanda to have a conscious reminder of the leaks today if she could help it, had advised him to stay away. Neither Malcolm nor Mycroft have visited either, as if it could be a normal day. John had felt apprehensive watching Amanda get more and more cross, but when Molly had stood falteringly, saying that she better go see if there was anything that Amanda needed, he’d gotten up himself. He’s been gearing himself up to say something all morning, and since it hardly looks like there’s going to be a good opening today…he stands with the office door open, tension tight inside him. 

 

Amanda picks up the folder, swallows and turns on the spot. “John. Hello. What can I help you with?”

 

He tries to pretend that he hasn’t just seen her losing her cool since she’s doing the exact same thing. “Um, actually, I was hoping that I might have a word?” he asks her.

 

_“Sure.”_ Amanda’s got that fake smile plastered all over her face again. She gestures to the seat in front of her desk. 

 

“I’ll stand if you”-

 

“Oh right, yeah.”

 

“It’s just um, well”-he looks happier than she’s ever seen him Amanda realizes. 

 

“No crutch.” She waves at his hand now. 

 

“Yeah.” John looks sheepishly relieved. He rakes a hand through his hair. “Actually that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

 

_“Oh?”_

 

“Yeah.” John shifts his position. “You see I know I’ve only just started”-

 

Amanda’s stomach plunges when she senses what’s coming. _“No.”_ She holds up a hand in the universal stop sign. “You can’t quit. Not now.”

 

“It’s Sherlock,” John says and Amanda’s heart skips a beat. Has something happened to the youngest Holmes? She feels worried for him, and for Mycroft too. “He could do with a proper assistant. He really could. He took me out on a case last night”-

 

“It must be love,” Amanda says dryly. 

 

John closes his eyes for a moment. Amanda can tell that he’s re-living something, but she cannot tell that it’s the fantastical sight of Sherlock and John running through London streets after the robber who they’d caught more on the verge of committing robbery than anything else and who had scarpered at once. John had been uninhibited for the first time in months by the lack of his crutch, which he’d thrown aside on the street. “I just”-John tries again as his eyes open-“I think he’d let me help out. I'm moving in with him and everything. It’s a little crazy I know, but… _good_ crazy to tell you the truth. Brilliant. And I could probably do so much more for him than I can for you.”

 

“Until you have to pay the rent. Or will you be living in a magical place where free money exists too?” Amanda can’t help herself now, but at John’s reproving look corrects herself, “Sorry, that was bad of me. I’d like that if that happened to me too. Ignore me.” 

 

“Honestly, I’ve been looking for some locum work. Somewhere I’d fit in better,” John admits now. “It will probably all work itself out,” John is oddly optimistic. “And anyway, running with him…it’s like a battlefield. I haven’t felt like that since”-

 

Amanda sighs. She should have known. Should have realized that for the constantly fidgeting John administrative work was never going to cut it, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t try and persuade him. “We've got our own battlefield here,” she attempts wearily, placing the folder down upon her desk now, before she turns back to him. John looks at her doubtfully. She sighs. She knows that she’s already lost the battle. Knows that she’s going to be letting him go. Can tell that he’s already much happier with Sherlock than he has been working here, and, if he’ll be a good influence for Sherlock and help ease Mycroft’s mind too then that will be a bonus. “We’re pressed up right against it. We need all the soldiers we can get, but if you want to then go. Lord knows someone might as well find happiness and it’s not going to be me.”

 

“I could always”-

 

“No, it’s all right John.” She waves his attempts to be polite off in spite of himself now. “If you could just work until the end of the month? To give me a chance to find someone new?” John nods now. “Then you can go after that and I’ll do a reference for you.” 

 

“Thank you.” He looks at her with a greater amount of respect in his eyes now. She nods at him and he takes the opportunity to leave. 

 

Amanda’s only just sat down again when Molly walks in. “Well, we've got our first casualty. John’s leaving at the end of the month, which is good for him, but not for us.”

 

Something flickers in Molly’s eyes now as she comes to a stop before her and that’s when Amanda knows that things are about to go from bad to worse. “Amanda, there’s something I need to tell you. My boyfriend”-

 

“Anyway, I need to go over the speech, so I think I’ll compartmentalize what John’s just said for today. Would you help me look through it?” Amanda interrupts her now, feeling awful for doing it when Molly’s eyes grow dull and she nods. No doubt Molly just thinks that she’s being selfish, but Amanda can’t very well have her confess about Richard’s involvement. And going by Molly’s reaction it _does_ very much seem like that’s the case. That he _is_ involved. Amanda worries for her friend. What has Molly got herself caught up in? She wishes she could tell Molly to just hang on, that Sherlock’s investigating, and as soon as they can nail the bastard they can get her out of the relationship she’s in, but she can’t. The less people that know of their suspicions over Brook, especially those who could be harmed by him, the better. 

 

*

 

It’s later that day and close to the time when Amanda will be departing for her speech that Mycroft slips inside her office. She’s alone, but on her feet again and looking stressed. 

 

“Thought I’d try and get here a little early, before Malcolm did,” Mycroft murmurs, closing the door softly behind him. He looks nervous about something, but when he notices that Amanda looks close to tears his expression changes to being one of concern. 

 

She blows out a breath now. Her speech, which she can’t seem to memorize or get out in the right order, flops uselessly in her hands like a dying goldfish. “I take it you heard about the leaks this morning?” she says.

 

“Yes.” Mycroft takes a step forward now. _“But”-_

 

“This is my last chance,” Amanda interrupts him. “My last chance to do anything with my life career wise and if this is the end then I want to be remembered for having done a good job, whilst I was here. But I'm not going to be am I? All because that sneak Brook is determined to sabotage me!” She knows that she sounds like a whiny child now and takes a deep breath, trying to straighten out her emotions, but still she cannot help but add, “I think Molly was going to confess to me this afternoon. I'm sure it’s him now.”

 

Mycroft looks alarmed. “Did you”-

 

“I didn't tell her anything. I had to interrupt her and felt like a right arse.” She smiles bravely. 

 

Mycroft closes the gap between them and places a hand upon her back. “It’s for the best,” he consoles her, before he asks, “Do you think she’s involved?” He does not believe it to be true himself, but feels the need to keep her talking, to help free her from the chains that burden her by discussing it with her. His fingers make soothing administrations upon her back. 

 

“She knows something that’s for sure.” Amanda looks at a point past Mycroft’s chest now, thinking hard. “But I _don’t”-_ she feels suddenly alarmed, more so than she’s felt for a long time-“I don’t think she’d do that to me. I don’t _like_ to think that,” she corrects herself. 

 

“Of course you don’t. Shh.” Mycroft’s hand swoops up to her shoulder and then down once more. She turns into him slightly, taking comfort from his presence, but _then-_

 

Her office door opens with a bang. Mycroft and she jump apart from one another as Malcolm strides in. 

 

“What’s this I hear about wee Johnny boy leaving us?” the Scot is gruff now. Mycroft looks at Amanda. 

 

“It appears that Sherlock’s made him a better offer,” she’s brisk, though she half-smiles at Mycroft. She notices that he doesn’t look surprised though, almost like he’s been keeping tabs on Sherlock and John over the past few days. She wonders what else he knows. 

 

“What about you two then eh?” Amanda takes a further step away from Mycroft at Malcolm’s words. “You wouldn't have been getting distracted would you? The reason that John was able to go off and have fun so easily wouldn't be because you got distracted with your love life would it? You see this is what happens. Mummy and Daddy Bear look at each other over Junior’s cot for one moment and then poof! Junior’s off to university, taking weed and not telling you two anything.” 

 

Mycroft’s head twitches at the drug reference, before he forces himself to say, “John will be good for Sherlock.” He’d watched them together via CCTV last night and he hopes that might be the case. 

 

_“What?_ Keep him from embarrassing you eh?” Mycroft hopes that might be true, before Malcolm looks at Amanda with intrigue about his face. “You not going to tell me that you and lover boy here aren't together then?”

 

“Well, we’re _not”-_ Amanda huffs, face getting redder.

 

“You keep telling me that sweetheart, but I'm not sure that I believe you what with all these clandestine meetings that keep occurring inside your office.” Malcolm swings from side to side, eyes dark. 

 

“There hasn’t been anything un”-

 

“I think you need to focus. I think you _both_ need to focus. You might have forgotten, but it’s your last chance tonight”- 

 

“I haven’t”-

 

“And I blame you for letting this happen in the first place,” Malcolm says in an aside to Mycroft now. 

 

“That’s most”-

 

“So let me help you _focus.”_ Malcolm draws himself up now, tongue darting out across his lips, as if he’s relishing what’s about to take place. “Let me prove to you, in a few words, why people like you shouldn't try for anything beyond a career. Let me blow it all to dust. _Amanda.”_ She looks at him, breath but a flicker inside her chest. “Before you broke up and before things started to get more fractured between you Mycroft here was going to propose. He had a ring and everything.” Amanda’s eyes swivel to Mycroft now, her breath catches inside her chest. He meets her gaze with a little ducked one of his own, hands inside his pockets. “Lucky escape I say. You made the right choice. Imagine living with him. It would be a nightmare.” He turns his attention to Mycroft. _“You.”_ Mycroft’s eyes go to him now. “You had a lucky escape too. You see in a parallel universe you’re a father.” A choked breath leaves Mycroft’s lips. Amanda’s hands use the speech she’s carrying to help cover her stomach instinctively. Mycroft’s gaze seems to look around it anyway. “She found out that she was pregnant ten days after you split up. The next night after she found out was when she had the miscarriage.” 

 

“Malcolm no,” Amanda says, close to tears. “How did you know? How did you know?” she says irrationally even though Malcolm has probably bugged her home or gets a text alert every time there’s a change in her medical records. 

 

“I know everything sweetheart.”

 

Her lip wobbles as Mycroft stares and stares at her. She’s been trying to block out that night for so long. But she can see it now-the blood in the toilet, the fear she’d felt, the sense that she might die right there and then. 

 

“Is it true?” Mycroft finally asks, even though he already knows that it is. He can sense it inside himself. It’s written all over Amanda’s face. 

 

Amanda makes an odd hiccoughing noise now and clutches her papers close to her. “I need to go. The car should be here by now.” She moves between them. The door ends up catching hard behind her. 

 

“What is it with women and slamming doors?” Malcolm wonders now, seemingly oblivious to the havoc he’s just caused. 

 

“Why did you have to do that?” Mycroft asks, voice strangely strangled, head bowed. “On tonight of all nights? Do you really not care about this department?” It sounds as if the churning emotion inside him is turning into anger now. “Not care about what she’s going to be going through because of you?” 

 

“I'm done caring and I did it because I could,” Malcolm says, honest, but vengeful. He tries to storm out of there.

 

_“Wait,”_ Mycroft growls now, cogs all finally slotting into place, as he swiftly turns and pins Malcolm’s shoulder to the wall. For once he’s glad of his heftier bulk. 

 

“Get off me!” Malcolm wriggles, astonished, cheek to the glass. For Mycroft to do such a thing! And to _him_ of all people! 

 

Breathing hard Mycroft lets go of him, but then stares down as Malcolm turns around to him. Mycroft’s eyes flick past him through the glass momentarily, but thankfully everyone’s focused on Amanda and seem to have missed out on that little incident right now. “All this time-ever since the expenses scandal first came to light, and _despite_ what the Prime Minister said about us both doing our best to make sure that Amanda achieves success in this department and for all the outward signs of you appearing to help her you’ve been planning her departure haven’t you? That’s why you convinced the PM to push her on policy”-

 

“Oh, I knew it would be a rubbish one anyway. No matter what amount of time she had,” Malcolm says offhandedly now, as if he can’t see that he’s done anything wrong. 

 

“You brought up what you did right now because you wanted the speech to go wrong and you were afraid that, in spite of it all, she might actually pull it off. The only thing that you want her to be focused on is losing her job and that’s been the case for this entire time”-

 

Malcolm waves his hands. “Well, what did you expect me to do?”-

 

“I don’t know- _support_ her? Not for yourself if you didn't want to, but the PM, the _party”-_ He wants to say that Malcolm doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing here, of all the risk that’s right at the heart of government with both Moran and Moriarty boxing them in. That he’s actively assisting the chaos that they wish to cause. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t keep his cards close to his chest now. Amanda needs to do well in her speech tonight. 

 

“What do you care? You’ll still have a job whoever’s in power. It’s only because you want to fuck her again. Let’s face it as soon as she sprayed shit over everyone in government there was never going to be a way out of it for her. The PM, the party, will be better off without her, and don’t you dare accuse me of not caring for either of them. I’ve helped wipe more shit off this place than you’ve had hot dinners and we know we’re talking about a lot here. Just look at your stomach.” Malcolm gives him one more look of disgust, before he swoops away again.

 

Mycroft, blood churning with a suppressed rage and incredulity, hesitates for a second, before he goes after him, face on neutral once more, but he’s not about to be cowed because of Malcolm’s weight jibes any more. He’s thrown the worst thing he possibly could at him. It doesn’t get any bigger than that and he’s had enough. 

 

*

 

“Good luck Minister,” Terri says now, as a shaking Amanda walks by her on the way to the double-doors. 

 

Amanda ignores her and brushes away a tear that has managed to drop down onto her cheek. Molly tries to say something to her. “Not now Molly,” she snaps and feels immediately guilty. 

 

_“But”-_

 

“Stay here with the others.”

 

“Look after the shop Goldilocks,” Malcolm adds. 

 

Terri, Glenn, Molly and John all watch as first Amanda, then Malcolm and Mycroft all weave through the desks and to the double-doors. One by one they all disappear from sight. 

 

*

 

Amanda’s shivering by the time that she comes to a stop on the edge of the pavement. The street lights illuminate her. It turns out that the car hasn’t arrived yet after all. 

 

“Why didn't you tell me?” Mycroft says softly, stopping beside her, anger cooled for the moment. 

 

“Not now.” Her fingers find his fisted hand and give it a quick, pleading squeeze. He’s cold as she is. 

 

“When then?” Mycroft clears his throat. 

 

“Later. _Please_ later.” She looks at him now. It is only the sight of her watery brown eyes that gets him to nod, but he feels stunned about it all. As if the floor in his mind palace has been pulled from beneath him to reveal a trapdoor that he’d never foreseen being there in terms of the miscarriage. He feels like he’s standing in a basement. Moriarty and Moran are staring down at him. Amanda is somewhere in the dark, unseen. 

 

Malcolm arrives and thankfully a moment later so does the car. Malcolm pushes his way in first and then Mycroft gestures that Amanda should go in, so she does, feeling uncomfortable as he squeezes in beside her. 

 

The car ride is probably the most uncomfortable she’s ever had. She can feel both men breathing softly either side of her, smell their cologne and feel their legs. Malcolm keeps trying to question her about the speech and throw her off guard. She can feel Mycroft looking at her. It’s like he’s trying not to, but he just can’t help himself. And her _mind!_ Her mind just keeps going around in a circle. The miscarriage. What she might say to Mycroft later. What he must be thinking of her. The _ring._ Had he really been going to propose? She couldn't be any more distracted. She doesn’t know how Malcolm could have thought she’d be able to focus after he’d told her all that. She tries to block everything out apart from her mind, eyes flickering periodically from the effect of the car headlights. 

 

When they finally get out of the car Malcolm and Mycroft begin to walk so quickly that she can barely keep up with them. She has to jog to match their stride. They re-group in the wide, but jam packed with people corridor and Malcolm does a double take when he looks at her once more. “Good grief. Your hair looks like one of those Dulex dogs. Find a toilet and brush it. You can’t possibly go in there like that.” She sniffles now without being able to help it. She’s never felt more like an ugly duckling in her life. She’s definitely not material that someone would propose to. _“God,_ you’ve got eyes like fucking saucers, no plates. But I’ve got no time for your Bambi act today. Do a Bambi’s mother. Go get shot. Actually don’t. As pathetic as it sounds we need you to go out there and do that speech right now.”

 

“Then why did you have to say all that before?” Amanda splutters. “Why couldn't you have let it all be?” 

 

Mycroft fumbles for a handkerchief.

 

“She doesn’t need you fucking about for a bloody handkerchief,” Malcolm berates him. 

 

Mycroft stops with a frown upon his face, before he says, “That’s exactly what she needs. What she’s probably needed for seven months now. _Support._ Somebody on her side. You make a big deal about the leaks Malcolm, but right now the only one who’s sabotaging this government is you.” Malcolm opens his mouth looking furious at Mycroft’s daring, but before he can unleash any more swear words at them Mycroft gently grasps Amanda on the arm and slowly leads her away. 

 

They go to the Ladies Toilets, which Mycroft clears with a few choice words and a glare, before he offers her his handkerchief anyway, as they stand there in the centre of everything. She blows her nose on it noisily and once she’s put it away Mycroft grasps onto her shoulders. 

 

“I think Malcolm was right.” She forces herself to look at him now, even attempts a watery smile. “I _am_ an ugly duckling after all,” she says. 

 

“You’re going to be a swan now,” Mycroft informs her firmly, squeezing her shoulders as if he can change her very mind just by doing that gesture. “Not for me. Not for Malcolm. Not even for the fucking PM. But for yourself.” He’s decided not to tell her about Malcolm’s little revelation earlier for now-it’s not the right time to-but he certainly will be doing so at some point, and about who he suspects Richard Brook to be. Though that bit will have to wait for even later he suspects. He is not about to put her in danger. 

 

Amanda swallows and nods several times. There’s something calming about hearing him swearing like that, about hearing him getting angry on her behalf. She’s always liked that side of him. “You’re going to be a swan and you’re going to be brilliant.”

 

She nods and swallows again. _“I”-_

 

“Not now.” He presses a finger to her lips and her eyes flare wide like a butterfly’s wings. “What we need to discuss can be done so later. For now you’re going to be brilliant.” He releases her, but she only does half-a-nod again, before she’s swooping against him and kissing him hard upon the mouth. Their lips collide together, hurting more than being pleasurable at first, and it’s not the most romantic of settings-a toilet block in a conference hall-but for a moment it’s just his cologne and her perfume-vanilla with a hint of musk-mixing together, her hands moving around his shoulders, his clumsily heading towards her waist, their eyes shut, lips remembering and her body pushing urgently against his. 

 

They pull apart with a loud breath and she murmurs, “I never meant to hurt you, to make it seem like I was never really trying or to make it seem like you weren’t at work. I never wanted to split up from you, but it seemed so impossible for us to stay together. I hope you understand that.” She brushes her hand against the side of his hair now, before she withdraws from him completely. 

 

He studies her, a growing affection in his eyes when he sees that she is indeed telling the truth and a feeling that he is doing even more the right thing by protecting her now, but then they are interrupted once more. 

 

“Fucking hell, so much for not being together.” Malcolm eyes Amanda’s swollen lips and the pair’s bright eyes and flushed features. “You haven’t even brushed your hair.”

 

“Piss off.” Amanda turns to him now, suddenly aggressive. Mycroft’s heart leaps inside his chest. “And stay pissed off. I’ve got a speech to do.” She saunters past him. Mycroft half expects to see white feathers exploding from her back. 

 

“About to have a quickie were you?” Malcolm tries to restore world order. “But then I suppose every time’s a quick one with you.” 

 

Undeterred Mycroft closes the gap between them. “If I were you Malcolm then I’d stay out of your Minister’s way tonight, _and_ mine.” He too leaves the bathroom. 

 

*

 

At first Amanda feels quite confident giving her speech. Even managing to crack a joke when she says, “So, ‘Four There,’ what is it? Well, you could probably answer that yourself by now.” There are a few appreciative chuckles at that from the press gathering. Mycroft smiles thinly and Amanda finds herself feeling spurred on. “The Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship decided, through our research and feedback”-she decides to gloss over the fact that they’d hardly conducted any-“That there are four elements that people want to see in place as they start work or continue throughout their working life. One of those elements is of course, _‘support.’”_ She takes a breath. “What does it mean? In what context am I talking of? Well, support for your body through having the right equipment. Support for your mind if you find yourself being bullied or under any undue pressure.” At this she looks pointedly at Malcolm. Mycroft coughs now, but it is too late. Her mind is already slipping back to the past and to one particular memory.

 

*

 

“I don’t need a chaperone!” her own voice had protested in Malcolm’s office at a time that she’d still been Foreign Secretary. 

 

“Well, if you think that I'm going to let other priceless nuggets slip out like they did with the last one”-

 

“The previous Foreign Secretary was a _man.”_ Malcolm had raised a deadpan eyebrow at her. “What I mean”-she’d fumbled with her hands-“Is that you shouldn't judge me by his standards. I control myself better than him. I'm not going to insult anybody”-

 

“You better not sweetheart,” he’d warned her. “Or it’ll be curtains for you. Stage left. You think you’re going to be a worldwide presence? Forget it.”

 

The pair of them had stared at one another for a moment, sizing each other up. 

 

“I can handle myself,” Amanda had tried again. She hadn’t had much contact with Malcolm until recently. She hadn’t known how far she could push things. 

 

“That’s for me to decide,” Malcolm had concluded then. “And I’ve decided that as a pre-caution you’re to have Mycroft Holmes accompanying you.”

 

“Who’s Mycroft Holmes? I’ve never even heard of him.” 

 

“It’s me actually,” a third voice had said from just inside the doorway. 

 

Amanda had jumped violently, before she’d looked across at the man. Tall with auburn hair, a long face and pretty blue eyes he was handsome in a rather undistinguished way. His thin lips and slightly expanding waistline had let him down, but she’d known that she wasn’t perfect either. And there was something about his dress sense-a navy three-piece suit, complete with satin silvery pink pocket handkerchief, a pocket watch [silver and hanging down from a chain] polished shoes-and that challenging twinkle in his eyes as he’d looked at her that had made Amanda feel rather excited in spite of herself. _“Jesus,”_ Amanda had said breathlessly, “You snuck in quietly. You must be like Malcolm here.”

 

“Gracious I hope not.” He’d bounced over to her then, a smirk about his face. Her heart had done a similar amount of steps inside her chest. Malcolm had rolled his eyes at them and looked down at some paperwork. Not another office romance! Why did he always seem to have a hand in starting them? “Mycroft Holmes.” He’d offered his hand to her then. Pale and freckled with a ring on one of the fingers-but not a wedding band, her mind had noted-it had felt slightly cold as she’d touched it and it had _dwarfed_ hers. “But then you already knew that didn't you?” he’d said with a bit of a smile as their hands had remained clasped together. “I'm a government employee, a sort of consultant if you will amongst all the departments, _and,_ as of today, accompanier to the Foreign Secretary, so I hope that you’ll be good for me.”

 

She’d arched an eyebrow at him then. He might have a luxurious voice, but apparently he was like every other man in the government who wanted to get on-charming and probably addled with more money than sense. At least that is what he had seemed to want her to believe. 

 

He’d raised one of his own eyebrows back at her. _‘Wait and see,’_ his gaze had seemed to say. So she had. 

 

*

 

The next time she’d seen Mycroft Holmes it had been as she’d been waiting to check in at the airport. 

 

She was about halfway through the queue in the vast, echoing place, which was full of people chattering, cases being pulled, announcements about delayed or cancelled flights and the odd person kicking off and getting stressed out when he’d skipped by everyone who was behind her and appeared, as if by magic, beside her. 

 

“Thought I’d join you. You looked bored,” he’d said as the man behind rued his very existence. 

 

“How nice of you to be so caring about my feelings Mr. Holmes.” She’d taken him in then. He’d worn a pinstripe suit that day with a white, open-necked shirt. His hand had idly pulled a tan carry case behind him. He’d looked attractive in an aloof kind of way. 

 

“I'm a big fan you know?” He’d blinked lazily down at her, suddenly not so distant then. 

 

_“Oh?”_ She’d tried not to let this information throw her off. She’d tried to look the man up, but had drawn a blank. The internet clearly wasn’t for people like him. As such she’d opted to be cautious around him. 

 

“Yes,” he’d gone on, “How is it that a person who once merely assisted an MP has been able to switch sides with so little hassle and rise up the ranks so easily and yet maintain a sense of being grounded?”

 

She’d felt something akin to disappointment then. That was it. She’d been right all along. She must have imagined the look he’d given her before. _“Why?_ Wanting the same thing for your own career Mr. Holmes?” she’d said breezily, as if she were completely unaffected by him, before she’d added at his raised eyebrow, “Yes, I’ve enjoyed myself that’s for sure. Swimming upward against all the testosterone like an egg trying and failing to be sperm.” 

 

He’d laughed then with his head tilted back and looked quite beautiful. “There was me merely thinking that you must be very observant Miss. Lane.” He’d blinked at her owlishly and cocked his head for a moment. “It is _Miss._ Lane isn’t it?”

 

She’d felt amused by him then. “It is yes. And whilst we’re on the subject are you attached Mr. Holmes?”

 

“Only to myself,” he’d said then. 

 

“With good reason I’m sure,” she’d remarked dryly, flirting easily with him and half-noting the sideways glance that he’d given her, as she’d taken a few steps forwards. 

 

*

 

“Have you been to the US before?” Ever the chatterbox he’d asked her the question on the plane. 

 

“No,” she’d hummed, “First trip all around.”

 

“You’ll probably be wanting to do some tourist-y things then.” He’d sniffed, as if such things were above him; before he’d gone on to offer perfectly sound advice. “Whatever you do don’t order a burger unless you’ve got a completely empty stomach. They’re massive. Let me check the hot dog vendor if you’re getting one and I’d advise you not to leave the hotel after sunset, but to always make use of the café’s and restaurants that are around rather than the food in the hotel. It’s cheaper.”

 

“Be sensible around food and presumably take you with me if it’s dark.” That’s what Amanda had heard and she’d ticked the points off her fingers, as she’d eyed him. 

 

“Not to a café though,” he’d said apologetically. “I don’t have anything to do with them.”

 

“Not even to keep me safe?” she’d teased then. He’d given her a bit of a firm smile, before she’d asked him more innocently, “What did you mean before”-

 

_“Hmm?”_ He’d tilted his head towards her. 

 

“When you said that you’d check out the hot dog vendor? Is there a secret code to spot a legit one? A _tell?”_

 

He’d smiled at her rather indulgently then. “I’m rather good at working things out about people. For example, what do you imagine that the woman two seats down and across is on this plane for?”

 

Tongue consideringly stuffed against her cheek Amanda had leant forward then. Mycroft had studied her as she in turn had studied the woman. “Business, but you’re going to tell me that, that’s obvious,” Amanda had said once she’d seen the woman’s tied up black hair and grey business suit. She expected she’d be sweaty by the end of the flight. Amanda herself was wearing more comfortable clothes-a light tan loose fitting hooded top over a pale blue t-shirt with dark brown three-quarter length trousers. She wondered if she should have gone for a smarter look too, despite the sweat. The photos once she got off the plane would be most interesting she’d thought. 

 

“Yes. Perhaps you could try and be more specific?” Mycroft had urged her. She’d arched forward all the more. One of Mycroft’s hands had gone to her waist with an automatic carefulness to steady her waist as she’d done so. She’d looked back at him. “Apologies.” He’d let go of her, looking a little chastised then. She hadn’t been able to decide whether she preferred him touching her or not and had looked at the woman again. She appeared to be using a small laptop. Amanda had tried her best, but she really hadn’t been able to work anything out. It was hard to see exactly what the woman was doing. She didn't appear to be using Microsoft Excel or anything like that, which might have forged some link with accounting or said that she was the go to financial person in some sort of business. She’d lowered herself properly back down into her seat and looked at Mycroft again. 

 

_“No?”_ He’d raised an eyebrow at her. She’d shaken her head, hands clasped together. Mycroft had grinned rather more wickedly. “She works for a Pet Food Company. I heard her talking on the phone about it on our way in.”

 

Amanda’s mouth had dropped open in mock outrage then. _“Oaf.”_ She’d swatted him on the arm. He’d rubbed at the spot, whilst he’d chuckled and looked pleased. There had been a companionable silence between them for a moment, before Amanda had added when Mycroft looked the other way, “I don’t believe you.” He’d stared at her enquiringly. “I think you’re cleverer than the fact that you just happened to overhear something. How could you be useful to all the departments otherwise?” She’d raised an eyebrow at him pointedly. 

 

“Yes. Perhaps I am a tad more perceptive than I’ve let you be aware of.” He’d smiled mysteriously. 

 

“What can you tell about me then?” Amanda had wanted to know, half-curious and half-apprehensive. 

 

He’d looked away and contemplated his knees then. “Oh, I don’t know.” His hand had waved casually, the heel of it still upon his leg. “Nothing that isn’t obvious and that the press haven’t released already about you I'm sure.” She’d looked at him imploringly, so finally he’d glanced back at her. “You’ve worked hard to get where you are. No one can deny it. I suppose this trip will go some way to proving whether this precise job is the right one for you, but you seem quite capable so far _and”-_ he’d stopped himself. 

 

_“Yes?”_ she’d said when Mycroft’s eyes had gone back to his knees again. 

 

He’d cleared his throat, before he’d looked at her. “It’s like you’ve been running, or, I don’t know, trying to fly towards something for a very long time.” He’d looked at her meaningfully then. 

 

“The swan thing?” She’d got it. 

 

“The swan thing,” he’d agreed.

 

*

 

She’d be meeting her foreign counterpart the next day, so that night at the hotel was spent going over documents and notes with Mycroft who assured her that he wasn’t doing such a thing because he didn't trust her, but rather because Malcolm had instructed him to do such a thing. Amanda had grimaced at that. She’d felt like she was already getting the size of Malcolm. 

 

“Slave driver.” She’d handed him the final batch of her hand scrawled notes, before she’d flopped down onto the bed. The place was quite nice really. A large room with windows that practically covered all of one wall and which she could see the White House from. A wide desk, before such windows. A large bed with a maroon covering and plush white pillows. Plenty of space in the wardrobe and other wooden furnishings and a warm orangey-brown painted wall with fluffy chocolate brown carpet. If she’d been there all by herself then she might have lounged and watched the slowly fading light cast its way down over the city. 

 

“Mmm.” Mycroft’s eyes had largely pored over the notes, but when they’d flicked up to hers once more he’d smiled. Lowered the notes down onto the corner of the bed a moment later. “Forgive me. I wouldn't usually”- His eyes had been fixed by her sideways position on the bed, how her head was propped up by her hand, the slight smile she had on her face. 

 

“What? Be like all the other men? I don’t mind.” She’d flicked at her hair; after all she’d been keen for more just as much. “What happens in America stays in America right? Unless of course we start a war out here and it gets back to Malcolm.” 

 

“Mmm,” he’d repeated again, before he’d added, “I'm not sure about war.” He’d kicked off his shoes and socks and swooped over there, one hand helping her turn onto her back, the other assisting with his balance as he’d clambered above her. 

 

“No, you’re more of a lover aren't you?” she’d murmured, his breath already hot upon her neck. 

 

Her hands had gone around to the back of his neck. They’d been electric. His lips on her own had sent her hands straight down to his shoulders. Then to his back. She’d cried and pushed against him. He’d devoured her slowly and when they’d both come to a panting stop, bodies naked and entwined, it had taken neither of them very long to fall asleep. 

 

*

 

_“Mycroft?”_ Amanda had been first to wake the next morning. She’d said his name softly, probingly. Like last night everything about him felt like some sort of dream. Another man to try and pin down into something more real. Would he be the one for her? Truth be told she couldn't help but wonder this after every one of her one night stands. That what had started out as something less might become something more. One of her hands had been gently on Mycroft’s shoulder, as she’d crouched before him fully dressed. Her eyes had dipped to the mass of dark hair upon his chest and her other hand had stroked at it, as she’d started to become aroused once more. 

 

He’d muttered something groggily about, _‘Mummy and Sherlock,’_ two people that Amanda decided she’d have to learn more about. His eyes had still been shut. 

 

“Stay here for a bit then,” she’d relented. 

 

*

 

He’d found her in the pool that was at the back of the hotel. The day was crisp if a little overcast. He didn't believe that she was there at first, but then her head had come bursting out from the surface. 

 

She’d spotted him at once and her eyes had lit up beneath the waterfall of water, which had cascaded down her face. She’d beckoned him over. 

 

It had made his stomach rather flip to see her like that. Hair sleek and gorgeous against her head. Body-the same one that had allowed him to be so close to hers last night-lithe and young and glistening in a dark swimsuit. Clearly the most beautiful person in the pool of early morning swimmers, though admittedly most of them were elderly. 

 

He’d felt rather embarrassed though as she’d pulled herself out of the pool, splashed water everywhere and wrapped wet hands upon his shoulders. He’d known _why_ she’d done it-to get him to lighten up and have some fun because she’d seen the way that he was treading over there so carefully-but he hadn’t liked it. He’d squirmed away when she’d planted her lips possessively on his. 

 

“What happens in America”- he’d reminded her. 

 

“I know. Like party conference.” She’d smiled at a passing male stranger and Mycroft had found himself feeling rather jealous all of a sudden. She wasn’t the only one who wanted to do some claiming. “You don’t have to look like that,” she’d teased, secretly pleased by how he’d just reacted. She’d tapped a finger to his nose. He’d taken the opportunity to peel her other hand off his jacket. “I was with you last night remember? It was nice.” She’d tested the water. She didn't want to go over the top or shower him with compliments, but she’d felt like there was a connection between them. That it meant something. That they could be more than just a source of release for one another. 

 

“I'm glad you found it suitable,” he’d said as if they were talking about a policy. He’d sounded more enthusiastic about dinner last night. She’d felt a chink of disappointment inside her chest, but she’d tried to correct it when she’d asked, “Tell me about your mother and Sherlock? You mentioned them when you were sleeping.”

 

“Did I?” Mycroft had looked surprised, before, rather than choosing to elaborate on either of his family members he’d walked off in an aloof fashion. 

 

She’d sighed. 

 

*

 

The meeting had gone well. There had been a moment when she’d looked at Mycroft and he at her and that’s when she’d known that it would be a two-time thing. It had spurred her on. At least for the moment they had one another. That might be enough. 

 

*

 

Mycroft had been gone when she’d woken up. The other side of the bed barely touched as if he’d hardly even been there. She’d thought that she could still smell a trace of his cologne. It had lingered in the air like that burning smell, which came before rain. She’d known then of course. Known that although she might still be in America the trip was over. The White House had looked like a blurry haze in the distance. She’d packed and not for the first time in her life felt a piercing sadness. The only difference with that one was that it had felt more refined. Sadder somehow. 

 

*

 

Mycroft had smoked upon the pavement, his luggage in an upright case beside him. He hadn’t been able to look at Amanda that morning. Hadn't been able to take in how warm her skin looked when compared to his or the way that he liked how it looked when he placed his hands upon her or hers upon him. He’d known that the whole thing was probably just another one-night-stand for her, but he’d never been one for one-night-stand’s. Until that first night of their trip of course. He hadn’t known what had made him do it. Last night he could put it down to just being a primal man and having the hope for more, whilst the opportunity lasted. But what about that first time? Had it been her smile? The way she’d looked at him? Or that feeling of being understood? Of knowing in that moment that there was something that they’d both needed from each other. Whatever it was Mycroft wished that feeling could stay. He supposed it would just have to be enough to see her at work from now on. 

 

“What happens in America stays in America. What a stupid thing to say,” he’d muttered to himself then, as he’d tried to remember who had uttered those fateful words first. Had it been he or her? He’d stubbed his cigarette out. Whatever the case it had been a stupid thing to say. Something that had trapped him and left him with little way out from all the pain and regret that he’d felt. 

 

Unwilling to leave things like that he’d swung back around again, grabbed his case and tried to go back inside the hotel. That was until he’d had a hand flung upon his chest a moment later. It had made him let go of his case in shock and it had clattered awkwardly onto its side behind him. 

 

“I'm sorry sir, but you will have to wait,” the Indian hotel worker had said, “You see the British Foreign Secretary is about to leave”-

 

_“But”-_

 

“We thank you for your patience sir.”

 

Amanda had nearly gone past him, before she’d done a double take and exclaimed, _“Mycroft!_ What are you doing there? Being detained too? Is everything all right?”

 

“The gentleman is with you Miss?” The hotel worker had looked astonished. “I'm sorry sir. So sorry. Ever so sorry.” He’d brushed Mycroft down then. 

 

“It’s fine. Get off me.” Mycroft had swatted the man away, feeling flustered. 

 

“That means ‘Thank you,’ in English,” Amanda had told the poor hotel worker. 

 

*

 

“What if what happened in America didn't have to _stay_ in America? What if we could take it home with us? What would you think then?” Mycroft had asked her tentatively on the plane, once he’d finally got over the indignity of being taken for someone who could be a threat to the Foreign Secretary and fallen into a state of serious contemplation. 

 

Amanda had felt startled, but grateful for the proposition. In her mind she’d already begun to prepare herself to move on from what had happened. Imagined the slightly tainted and sadder moments that might pass between them now because of what had occurred between them when they were away. Feeling choked she’d simply taken his hand in hers. Mycroft had given it a squeeze. The contrast of their skin had looked nice together.

 

*

 

“Where have you been?” Amanda had barely gotten back to her shared flat with Mycroft, which had her modern romances against his old histories and the docking system for her music next to his turntable when she’d heard him asking her that. As she’d taken her coat off she’d known that they were going to fight again. 

 

Trying to delay it for as long as she could she’d said, “I had to work late.” She’d hung up her coat then and leant against the umbrella holder as she’d done so, before she’d turned around. He’d come forwards from the settee, but had still kept a bit of space between them. “You know we’re both busy people.” She’d forced a smile at him. Hoped it would be enough. 

 

“I know that _you_ are. I’ve barely seen you,” he’d said. 

 

She’d sighed. “Mycroft, _please”-_ she’d broken off then and known as soon as Mycroft’s eyes had flashed that it was already too late. She’d gone too far. He’d had a bad day and wanted to fight. They always took it out on each other. _Her_ especially. 

 

“Please what? Please don’t start complaining again Mandy because what am I supposed to do? You’ve made it clear that you’re the more important one than me. That compared to you I hardly have any responsibilities and you carry out your job so much better than I could ever _dream_ of, that when I have a bad day”-

 

“You sound jealous.” She’d cocked an eyebrow, tilted her head. 

 

“If I am my love then it is only because whether you have a good day at work or not you at least get to come home with the full responsibility of all that. The praise. The negativity of it all. No one even knows what I do and though that doesn’t bother me usually sometimes I would really prefer it if people just appreciated”-

 

“You know that would be a hard task with the government anyway. _Malcolm”-_ she’d felt he was overreacting. 

 

“I'm not talking about Malcolm! I'm talking about _you!”_ A long silence had met his harsh words. They’d stared at one another. 

 

“You think I don’t appreciate you?”-

 

“What I think is that you’ve changed since I first met you. You were light then, more enthusiastic. You hardly ever smoked, but now I can smell it on you all the time and”-

 

“Are you sure that you’re not just smelling yourself?” He’d grimaced. “It’s this fucking job my dear,” she’d thrown a similar term of endearment back at him, “And I'm sorry if I can’t switch off when you want to switch off any more, but I'm unable to. My mind’s radioactive and there’s no off button.” 

 

“You know I don’t like it when you swear,” he’d scowled and folded his arms. “I get enough of that from Malcolm.”

 

“Well, what is it that you want from me Mycroft? I really don’t know. And for the record how is it exactly that I'm meant to appreciate all of you when you keep yourself so shielded all the time? I smile at you and half the time you just respond with suspicion like I'm trying to trick you.”

 

“Because you’re such an open book yourself,” he’d grumbled then. She’d sighed. “You’ve met Mummy and Sherlock,” he’d said, as if he didn't know what more she could possibly want from him. 

 

“And you know that I adore them both. It’s just sometimes I feel”-

 

_“What_ Mandy?” Mycroft had pressed. 

 

“That you’re not giving me everything you could be,” the words had tumbled out of her then in a both exhausted and pleading fashion. She just wanted this to stop. All the arguments. For them just to sit down, before this all got out of hand and there was no going back from what one of them said. 

 

He’d looked hurt at that. “I share this flat with you, give you money, _buy_ you things. Isn't that what a good boyfriend’s supposed to do or maybe you should remind me?”

 

“It’s not the money. It’s not any of that.” She’d approached him then. Taken his thumbs gingerly with his fingers. She’d ducked her head and felt upset, whilst she tried to figure out the best way of telling him what she had to say. “It’s just sometimes I feel there are… _secrets_ there between us. Things that you don’t tell me because we work in such a similar way on such a similar level, though of course, as you’ve recently reminded me my role is more of a public one.” She’d looked up at him. His face had been neutral then. “Sometimes I just feel like you’re waiting for me to let you down and…” She’d looked back down again.

 

_“What?”_ he’d been softer, scared. 

 

“I don’t think I can compete with the pedestal version you want me to be. That version that I was in America. The way we were together on that whirlwind trip and in the beginning, before the reality of being back here truly set in for us.”

 

“What do you mean?” he’d grown all the more quieter.

 

“I think I might want my own space again.” Tentatively she’d looked back up at him and squinted more than taken him in. The words were terrible, but she felt rather relieved about having said them. They couldn't go on as they were. It wasn’t practical for either of them. Or realistic. Not with their jobs. 

 

“You _don’t-?”_

 

“I love you Mycroft. You know that I do. It’s just this isn’t working any more. Maybe if one of us had a different job and could just be…I don’t know, the other’s sanctuary or whatever then it would, but I think we’re too similar for that. We hold onto our grudges. We react to arguments in the same way. We get _bruised_ by them, and when one of us finally decides to back down we resent the other for making us be the one to do so”-

 

“Mummy did say that we've both been acting like children of late,” Mycroft had sniffed then, as he’d tried to understand it all. His head had spun with images both happy and sad, all fragmented. 

 

“There we are then.” She’d touched firmly at his hands, before she’d let out a long sigh. “Neither of us are giving each other what we want. I'm sorry.” She’d gone around him and felt the tears coming as she’d gone off to make a cup of tea. 

 

“So that’s it?” she’d hoped that he’d just accept it. That they’d be able to discuss the situation like adults and think of a sensible way of her moving out and the removal of her things from his flat. But he’d sounded angry about it all.

 

She’d turned around. “What do you want from me? To _not_ be truthful with you? To just keep trying to tiptoe around you all the time?” The tears had brimmed inside her eyes. 

 

It had pained Mycroft to see them. _“No.”_ He’d looked off to one side, as he’d searched for answers that weren’t there. “But for you to try I guess.” He’d looked lost. This was one situation that he couldn't just fix with some harsh words or a signature. 

 

“That’s what you don’t seem to be getting Mycroft. I _am_ trying, but I don’t owe what you’re making it sound I do. I don’t owe you all the hard work I’ve put in. You can’t make me quit my job just because you’re unhappy with some things. I’ve come too far for that,” she’d stressed, pleading with him to see reason. 

 

“I'm not asking you”-

 

“I know. You never have,” she’d said thickly, “But sometimes it feels that what you most need from me is for me _not_ to be myself.” He’d looked stricken at that point. “I’d be a better girlfriend to you if I could. I’d cook you nice meals. I’d make love to you more and not just when we’re angry and tired. I’d come home earlier”-her bottom lip had wobbled then and she’d ducked her head-“But we’re not in that situation and I just can’t live like this any more.” 

 

“You’re not even going to try?” Mycroft had said when she’d turned back around once more. 

 

“I _do_ try! Can’t you see that? I’ve said I'm sorry! What more do you want? I can’t do this!” She’d spun around with angry eyes. Mycroft had looked shocked. His eyes like a glassy photo from happier times gone by. 

 

*

 

A few flashes go off. Amanda’s eyes jolt into being and find Mycroft’s. It is then that she realizes that whilst she’s been thinking she’s stopped talking. She cannot see Malcolm but pictures him screaming blue murder inside her head. Mycroft however can hear him celebrating. 

 

“Yes, so, um, that’s ‘support.’ The second one is ‘technology,’” she says now, “We all know how frustrating it can be when technology doesn’t work or isn’t working fast enough for us”- she pauses again, releasing a rattling kind of breath. Mycroft wishes that he could go up there and shake her without it causing a terrible fuss, but once more she is stuck deep in the past. 

 

*

 

The pregnancy test hadn’t worked anywhere near fast enough. She’d gotten one of those that was meant to say with words whether she was pregnant or not, not just give off that famous blue line, but it was still being as slow as sin as far as she was concerned. She’d cried without being able to help it and when the inevitable result had come after her morning sickness that day and just ten days after her split with Mycroft she’d done so all the more, properly wheezing. She’d never felt so scared before. 

 

*

 

The following night of the following day she’d tossed and turned in bed, as she’d felt sick. There was pain in her lower abdomen and she realized that she could feel something wet between her legs. Her almost stupid state of half being awake and half being in a delirious kind of sleep had told her at first that it was her period, before she’d remembered once more. Frozen there for a moment she’d whimpered as she’d finally, and with much swearing at herself, forced herself to get up. She’d been able to feel just how damp she was and she’d started to cry then as she’d made her way to the bathroom. 

 

_Blood._ She may not have ever been in that situation before, but she’d watched enough dramas on TV to know what blood might mean. 

 

She’d wiped the excess of it away and gotten up off the toilet to get her phone. 

 

Her first instinct had been to call Mycroft, but she’d stopped herself the moment before she’d pressed the button. She was sure that he’d still be there if she really needed him to be. That he’d arrive and be scared too, but somehow he’d manage to help her. He’d go with her to the hospital for one thing. They’d cry together. Mourn for the life that right then she knew had died inside of her. They might even get back together once more. But calling him then meant explaining and she was tired. She didn't want to have another endless conversation with him that she knew would go round and round in circles. Mycroft would be better off without knowing this wouldn't he? That’s what she’d decided as she’d let out a gasp of pain and called for an ambulance instead. 

 

*

 

The light had been too bright. The wait too long. The nurse too friendly and enquiring once she’d finally arrived there. 

 

“The medication will help you soon I promise.” She’d clutched at her hand once she’d come in to check on her again. Amanda had nodded, feeling unhappy, worn and exhausted from her place on the hospital bed. “The man who would have been the father not here?”

 

“He’s not involved,” Amanda had gasped then. She’d known that it made Mycroft sound terrible, as if he’d just knocked her up and then hadn’t cared, but she hadn’t been able to help it. 

 

The nurse had hummed in a non-judgemental fashion and looked at her out of those grey eyes of hers, before she’d asked if Amanda wanted to call anyone. 

 

*

 

Amanda hadn’t told anyone but Molly. Kind, sweet Molly who had looked terrified on her behalf as soon as Amanda had told her. She’d been quick to ask whether the older woman should really be in work at all. Amanda _had_ stayed in work though. It was all she had left. Besides, she hadn’t wanted anyone else to know or to gather their suspicions like clouds that they’d hug to their chests. Of course Malcolm had found out. But it had only been Molly who she’d told officially. Kind, sweet Molly who Amanda could tell her secrets to, but not be told by the other woman apparently. 

 

In the present she gasps now and rocks forwards. Mycroft is on his feet at once. So are some of the press group. She clutches onto her stomach and thinks that she might be sick, her eyes swimming with tears. 

 

Malcolm watches the final nail go into place in the coffin with satisfaction. 

 

Mycroft cannot be so cold though. He finally heads up on stage and takes her now folded elbows with his hands. She startles and flinches away from his touch. “Mandy it’s me, _Mycroft.”_ She nods dumbly, mouthing and whimpering his name like an incantation. He steers her off stage, blinking at all the camera flashes that go off. He knows that the papers will probably have him down as a minder the next day, but he doesn’t much care in that moment. Maybe that’s what he is when it comes down to it all. He can only think about getting her out of there. He calls for the government car that they’d come in and they go out and meet it, lingering where the press aren't allowed in the meantime. Malcolm is nowhere to be seen. Mycroft ushers a shaking Amanda inside the car and does up her seatbelt for her. As the press finally figure out what’s going on they run towards them, shouting out questions. But it’s too late. The car is already pulling away. Mycroft shoots them a look of disgust over his shoulder, as he holds Amanda one-handedly to his chest. 

 

*

 

“Here, have this.” They are back at Amanda’s flat now. Mycroft has sat her down on the settee and just fetched her a glass of scotch. He lays it down on the side table to give her a moment to ready herself. She nods thanks, takes a long drag of it and sets it back down once more. 

 

“I guess I was right. This is the end.” She switches the TV on, but keeps the volume down. To no one’s surprise the BBC News channel is playing the footage from her disastrous speech over and over again, predicting her resignation or sacking by the morning and wondering who will replace her. They also speculate on whether her involvement in breaking the expenses scandal had, had anything to do with her apparent mental breakdown tonight. 

 

Mycroft switches the TV off once more and sits down beside her. “The miscarriage,” he murmurs now, “I know you were remembering it tonight. _Why-?”_

 

“What was I supposed to do Mycroft?” she gurgles at him in a snappish way, raising her eyes to meet his. He looks surprised, but remembering and everything that she has been through has made her upset. “Was I supposed to phone you up and say, ‘Hey, by the way I know we just split up, but I found out that I was pregnant and the stress of realizing probably made me lose it?’”

 

“Not if you’d done it like that.” Mycroft looks frustrated. “But you know what I mean Amanda. Even recently you could have said something. We've been talking more.”

 

“I never did for the same reason why you never told me about the ring I expect. It was too painful to.” She sniffles now. “I never wanted a child, but I didn't want to lose it like that either.”

 

He looks sad. “I would have”-

 

“I _know.”_ She taps him on the hand. She doesn’t need him to say that he would have helped. She already knows that. 

 

“Did you tell anyone?” 

 

_“Molly.”_ He looks even sadder now. Not understanding and wanting a distraction from her own thoughts, which are plaguing her she says, “Tell me about the ring.”

 

“I can do one better than that,” he answers gravely, before he pulls a small black velvet box out of his pocket. 

 

“You carry it around with you?” She looks at him, intrigue all over her face. 

 

“I suppose. I didn't want to put any pressure on you”-she takes the box from him slowly with an absent-minded hum-“But I might have asked you tonight.” She looks at him now, before she looks at the box once more. “If the speech had gone well and before Malcolm had said what he did. I wanted us to have something to look forward to, to show my commitment to you and I think we've been getting on better lately haven’t we?” She nods, letting out a little breath now, both at his words and at the sight of the ring. It has a silver swan on its top and just beneath the marked out rings lays a red ruby. No bigger than a centimetre. 

 

“A real one.” She looks at him again, before she realizes to her astonishment that he’s crying. _“Myc?”_ She stares at the silvery tear that’s floating down his cheek. It fascinates her, but what might be the cause of it makes her feel afraid too. 

 

“Yes,” he sniffs, trying to get himself together. “I just wanted you to know that in my eyes you’ll always be that most beautiful of creatures and to tell you to never doubt yourself.” 

 

“Oh _Myc.”_ She squeezes his hand now. That is probably the sweetest thing that anyone has ever told her. She kisses him in the next moment in what is a very wet and sticky fashion, before she clutches at the hair that’s on the nape of his neck as she pulls away once more. _“Well,”_ she says, slowly transferring the ring back to him again, “Like you say we should probably save this for a happier occasion, but maybe one day, if you’re still keen for me to, you’ll let me wear it.”

 

“Oh Mandy,” he gasps, “It makes me so happy that you want to believe that, but I think we both know”- his phone rings. He takes it and Amanda can tell from the way that his face becomes more serious that he’s not going to get back to that sentence right now. “We've got a problem,” he says when he comes off it, looking extraordinarily grave and she wonders what has happened now. “Malcolm knows who’s responsible for the leaks.”

 

_“How”-_

 

“Apparently Molly has just confessed to him.”

 

Amanda’s world changes once more.


	4. Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda Lane has been running her whole life, but now she's about to discover who she's meant to be with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever for your support. x. 
> 
> P.S The memory scene in this chapter is written in present tense because that's the one that Amanda should have been focusing on all this time. :)

“It’ll be that Brook’s manipulated her as we feared,” Amanda says over her shoulder to Mycroft just before they’re about to go through the double doors that lead into the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship.

 

Mycroft nods, his jaw tense, but he doesn’t have as much faith in it being all straight forward like that as Amanda does. Or perhaps he’s rather hoping that it might not be. Some small part of him anyway. 

 

When they go through them it’s to see Malcolm standing in the middle of the floor beside a very tearful and flushed faced Molly-Amanda’s heart immediately goes out to her. To their surprise, standing a little off side to the duo are Sherlock and John. 

 

“Called them here moments after I spoke to you,” Malcolm says gruffly. 

 

Amanda’s eyes lock with her assistant’s. 

 

“I-I never meant to,” Molly begins to stammer now. Amanda’s heart plummets. Has she been a fool to trust the other woman all along? Mycroft swallows, eyes darting between Amanda and Molly. 

 

But then a quavering, high-pitched voice says, “Once upon a time there was a government place called DoSAC. More like ‘do suck!’” The lights flicker on and off to the man’s manic laugh. Amanda and Mycroft turn around to see Richard Brook entering the room. Mycroft swallows at the sight. “It was very easy to infiltrate. Almost like the space between Amanda’s legs, but that’s another story isn’t it Mycroft?” 

 

Mycroft sways forwards for a moment in anger, before he gets himself together again. _“Why?”_ he asks. “Why would you do all of this?”

 

“For fun. Been a bit bored really.” The blond wags a finger at him, his white shirt crisp beneath his navy suit, thin dark tie slick. He has a pencil tucked above his ear. Amanda notices it as he strolls past them and stops in front of Sherlock. Brook turns his head back to them, hands in pockets, gum swishing about his mouth. Mycroft narrows his eyes at him. “I find it funny when the two M’s get cross,” he says now with a delicious relish. “The two government bores getting their cranky on. And I have, my dear,” he looks back at Sherlock now, “Been wanting to play with you for a very long time. I figured that you being forced to do a favour for your brother might draw you out of your hiding place and I knew that it was never a question about Mycroft asking because he’d want to protect Amanda.”

 

“Why would you want to play with me?” Sherlock asks, barely moving his lips. 

 

“My mother was abused by my father too you know. Thought it might be interesting. How can you be on the side of the angels when we both stem from similar backgrounds? My own social experiment if you will. We both knew our fathers were hitting our mothers. We both couldn't do anything about it and yet…you’re so different from me. I wanted to see if I could win against you. But mostly I wanted to ‘play with you,’ as you so eloquently put it because you’re Sherlock Holmes darling and this is the game. _This_ is what we both live for. You looking for all the evidence and not finding any. Getting more and more frustrated. But I'm afraid Sherlock dear the evidence was with the woman you used to work with all along. It never occurred to you that the link was Molly.”

 

“The focus was on Amanda,” Sherlock admits now. 

 

“Ah yes, _Amanda.”_ Richard does a casual spin, hands coming out of his pockets. “Now there’s a woman I like to see cry.” His eyes lock against Amanda’s equally dark ones. “What a show you put on tonight my dear. How lovely it all was.”

 

Amanda can feel Mycroft’s body almost vibrating beside her, sense him longing to say something, but she gets there first with a simple, “Why me?” Sherlock’s eyes watch the scene carefully. 

 

“ ‘Why me?’ I'm hurt.” Richard puts a hand to his chest now. “Do you really not remember me Amanda? All the lovely moments we shared. I even kept my accent.”

 

Amanda stares at him. Mycroft looks shocked for a split second because he’d thought that he would have discovered if Amanda and Moriarty truly knew each other by now. Thought that there must be another reason why he was fixated on her. Her politics perhaps. Feeling worried about the way this is developing he grasps hold of Amanda’s hand. 

 

“Let go of me please.” She’s firm. She needs to understand. She does not want Mycroft distracting her. 

 

With a delicious smirk Richard plucks the chewing gum from his mouth. He then carefully plants it on the floor in front of Amanda’s shoe and squishes it with his own, digging his toes in right beside hers. He meets Amanda’s eyes when he straightens up and she stares levelly back at him. Then he takes the pencil out from behind his ear and hands it to her. “For you if you want to note all of this down. It is rather shocking and will make all of the papers. But perhaps this part won’t, so you should do your own write-up of it.” He strokes his hair, at least that’s what Amanda _thinks_ he’s doing at first until he pushes aside his blond hair-a cleverly made wig, which falls to the floor and reveals his naturally dark locks. He tousles them, smiles and that’s when the flashes hit Amanda. Not flashes of the press cameras this time, but of the past and it’s like she’s there once more. Back home in Wales, lying against the base of a tree trunk at the end of the afternoon of another oddly hot summer’s day. She’s a teenager again and she’d been reading, but now she just basks there. Her tattered romance novel about old London town is sprawled messily beside her. She breathes in and then out contentedly, hands upon her stomach. This is the life she thinks.

 

A boy approaches her. _Well,_ maybe it’s a bit unfair to call him that. He’s only a few years younger than her after all and on the cusp of being a teenager. He twirls a piece of barley-a gift from a nearby field-as he joins her. 

 

 _“Jim,”_ she acknowledges him, not displeased to have company. 

 

“You shouldn't be reading that,” he says, pointing to her book, brown eyes large on his pale face. 

 

She’s always found his directness off-putting. “Yes, well”-

 

“Does it mention the Tower of London at all?”

 

“Oh, yes it does. That’s where the main romance takes place. You see the prisoner and his”-

 

“Do you want to play a game?”

 

“What sort of game?” She sits up properly now. 

 

“A time travelling game. You can be a scribe and write down everything that I tell you to.”

 

“But who will you be?” 

 

“A raven outside the Tower of London,” he says, as if that much should be obvious, short dark hair blowing in the breeze that starts to pick up. “All the things they must have seen and heard over the years. That dreadful wailing.”

 

“But how will I communicate with you if you’re a bird?” She thinks it’s a perfectly logical question, but he scowls at that. 

 

“Stupid girl. You don’t get anything,” he mutters, before he turns around, walking off and slashing the piece of barley by his leg once more. 

 

Back then she’d thought him a strange if harmless boy. But aside from that balmy gathering they’d only come across each other once more at a wedding and they hadn’t spoken much at all back then. She just remembers his brown eyes on her as she’d drank more and more. 

 

Now in the present she breathes, “Jim. Jim Moriarty.” 

 

Mycroft and Sherlock exchange a significant look with one another. 

 

In the background Malcolm says, “What are you blathering on about? Would someone please explain to me what the hell is happening?” John takes pleasure in shushing him and Malcolm’s dark look grows. 

 

“Amanda how do you know this man?” Mycroft is keen to know. 

 

“He’s my cousin.” Still Amanda’s eyes don’t leave Jim’s. Mycroft pales. “You know him too don’t you? I saw the look you gave Sherlock just now.”

 

Mycroft swallows. “We've been hearing whispers for a while about the man who was running London’s underground of crime and that far beyond our borders too. The appointment of Sebastian Moran, who we knew had dodgy dealings, made us wonder if Moriarty might reveal himself soon.”

 

“So you’ve known for a while?” Amanda at last looks at him.

 

“Yes, I didn't realize it was Brook at first but became suspicious when we heard Molly here calling him ‘Jim.’ If I’d known about his connection with you though…” Mycroft sounds anguished. 

 

“What? You would have sat on me?” Moriarty quips. 

 

“Be quiet.” Amanda looks back at him. She is breathless, stunned. “You did all of this just because I didn't play with you?”

 

“It’s more than about the game,” Moriarty explains now, “Though I do prefer it when people play.” He looks at Sherlock pointedly. _“No,”_ his eyes go back to Amanda now, “It was more that I was bored one night, so I decided to challenge myself. I would make a large web through the shortest amount of moves that I could and catch as many juicy flies in it as possible. I wanted Sherlock to come out of the little hidey-hole his brother has been keeping him in for far too long, I had some information sitting around rather pointlessly”-she knows that he means the list of MP’s expenses-“And I had _you,_ my rather successful cousin, in a perfect place to make part of my equation work. But how to link them all together? Well, it’s like I’ve said. I had to get myself a girlfriend.” He turns to Molly now. The young woman shakes and Amanda feels blood boiling in her veins. “It was all so easy. I gave her the confidence to stop her mooning after Sherlock in the morgue”-

 

“She had that anyway. The confidence. It was there all along just waiting for an opportunity to come out,” Amanda is fierce now. Mycroft’s heart sinks even further down inside his chest. 

 

“That may be, but I made her do something useful with her life”-

 

“She was already doing that!”

 

 _“Mandy,”_ Mycroft mutters, distraught on the inside, but not wanting her to get hurt. 

 

“No she was.” She looks at him now. 

 

Moriarty’s smile just grows. “Then I pushed her in your direction and you’ll never understand the boredom that I had to endure. _‘Oh Jim, Amanda’s just wonderful, so strong, but she doesn’t half close herself off.’”_ Amanda, flushing slightly, glances at Molly who is just as red. _“‘Oh Jim, you should have seen Amanda doing this speech today. I would have been terrified if I’d had to get up there and do that, but she just took it all in her stride.’”_ Again Amanda blushes. Had she really come off as being that much in control when she always feels so out of it? _“‘Oh Jim, Amanda’s fine. I'm sure of it. But I do worry about her sometimes. She barely ate any of her BLT. Maybe I should buy her a drink with extra chocolate in it tomorrow? What do you think?’_ It was all so mellow for a while. Then I got bored. There’s only so much of cat pictures and _‘Glee,’_ I can take. Only so much of hearing how fucking wonderful you are. I asked Molly to leave a package upon your desk. You might remember it Amanda? Although so much has happened since then.”

 

“I couldn't exactly forget,” she says through gritted teeth. The torment of what she’d been through with that USB ripe in her mind. 

 

“That’s when the fun began. Darling Molly here didn't want to disappoint you.” Amanda feels all the more grateful for her friend now and looks at her. Molly appears anxious and worried, fretting about what might still occur at any moment. Amanda tries to send some good vibes through to her. Tries to tell her that no matter what Moriarty says now their relationship isn’t going to change. “She grew panicked as soon as she realized my package had caused problems,” he smirks at the double meaning. “We argued when we rarely had before. She was furious with me, especially when she realized what the USB actually contained. She accused me of making problems for her at work, which was exactly what I intended to do of course.” His smile grows now. Amanda hates him all the more for it. “It wasn’t hard to get her to go along with what I wanted though. I was still, _‘Savior Jim,’_ the man who had allowed her to have this opportunity in the first place. She loved me.” Amanda feels like she might erupt. “And even when you getting suspicious made it that much harder for her it never got that bad for me. You see you were too arrogant Amanda. Too willing to believe that Molly was so loyal to you that it could not possibly be her when really she’s been exactly the one whose been leaking information to me all this time.”

 

“Because you were manipulating her!” Amanda says despite the squeak it makes Mycroft emit. 

 

“That same arrogance led you to believe that I might hold a torch for you after you looked at my Twitter page, just as I knew it would. I’ve been planning this for a very long time my dear. But whilst your own ego buoyed you up Molly crumpled underneath your feet and you didn't even notice it.” A muscle clenches in Amanda’s cheek now. She has been a terrible friend. _That_ she can’t deny. But when all this is over she’ll make it up to Molly. She pictures them hugging now and it steadies her somewhat. “The first thing that frightened her was when Sherlock was brought in to investigate. She knew the powers of her old friend and felt sure that he of all people would figure it out. She worried that once he did you’d sack her without a fair hearing.” Amanda feels chastised now. Had that really been what Molly had thought of her? That she’d just dispose of her? “She worried that she’d never see you again.” Amanda’s face softens. “But by far she was most scared tonight.” Amanda feels curious. “When she saw you fall apart on that stage, when she saw how you couldn't even complete a speech like the ones that she’d once enjoyed watching you do, she couldn't bear it any more. Her own role in making you feel that way disgusted her. When Malcolm came back here it only took a dark look from him for her to confess all. She couldn't hold it back any longer. Well Molly, now’s your chance. Tell Amanda here why you feel so strongly tonight, why you’ve been feeling so strongly all this time in fact.” He looks at her challengingly now. 

 

 _“I-I”-_ tears waver in Molly’s eyes. 

 

“You’ve never loved me have you Molly?”

 

Mycroft looks at Amanda now, wondering if she gets it at last, but he can tell that she’s still oblivious from the way that she’s just eyeing the pair. 

 

 _“Jim!”_ Molly is horror-struck now. “Of course I do! I always have! I swear”- 

 

 _“Liar!”_ He strikes her. The blow makes her body bend towards the floor and as the sharp slap still rings out Amanda lets out a ferocious growl for she realizes what she hasn’t been seeing for all this time. 

 

 _“You!”_ She flings herself at Moriarty, pencil dropping to the floor in a spinning arc and nails bared like weapons. 

 

Mycroft grabs her around the middle in the ensuing chaos as Sherlock takes a step forward, eyes dark now at the memory of his father hitting his mother and what one of his oldest friends has now been subjected to. Moriarty makes to hit Molly again, getting a taste for the violence and John touches at something that’s hidden just beneath his clothing, Malcolm stands there, hands outstretched, but not knowing what to do. Whilst Molly lets out a shriek, feeling frightened for Amanda. 

 

“Let go of me!” Amanda yells now at Mycroft at the same time that John fires his gun.

 

It seems to happen in slow-motion, but as Mycroft’s eyes go to Sherlock to make sure that he’s all right James Moriarty keels over backwards towards the floor, blood pouring from a head wound and still with the ghost of an arrogant smile upon his face.  
Mycroft looks in shock at John. Molly stares down at the motionless Moriarty, pale and frightened, her breaths coming out in gasps, hands just beneath her chest. All of them are splattered with blood. 

 

“Fucking hell. Fucking hell,” Malcolm mutters, looking down at Moriarty and then around at them all. 

 

“You’re meant to be a doctor,” Sherlock breathes. 

 

“I'm an ex-soldier too,” John reminds him, “And I have bad days. A psychosomatic limp wasn’t the only thing that I brought back from the war with me.” He nods at the gun now. 

 

“We’ll have to clean beneath your fingernails,” Sherlock’s mind begins to work once more. 

 

“How the fuck are we going to cover this up?” Malcolm questions, eyes dark as he looks at John. 

 

“I don’t think we can,” Molly says faintly. For once Malcolm looks like he might agree with her. 

 

 _“Mandy?”_ Mycroft murmurs quietly because she seems to be in a daze. She looks at him, before she stares at Molly. She goes to hug her friend. 

 

“I'm so sorry. So sorry I never realized.” 

 

“It’s fine,” Molly sounds surprised, but pleased too. She pats at Amanda’s back awkwardly. 

 

“It really isn’t.” Amanda pulls away from her. “But it will be. I’ll make sure of it.” She looks at her with all shiny eyes, squeezing at her hand, before she steps away from her again. 

 

Malcolm, Sherlock and John have started discussing what they might say when the police arrive. Amanda’s about to join them when Mycroft murmurs, “May I have a word with you?” She nods and he steers her to a spot that’s further away. Still she looks back at Molly and Mycroft knows why she does it. If it was her in the same situation that Molly had just been in now and it had all only come to light then he’d be staring at her too, never letting go of her with his eyes. But there are a few things he needs to make sure that she understands. Her feelings being one of them. “She’s who you’ve been running to,” he tries to explain to her gently. 

 

Amanda, not quite getting it, tears her eyes away from Molly now and looks at him, head cocked. “You knew that she was at risk for a while, considering that you knew Brook might be Moriarty?”

 

“I'm not proud of it.” Mycroft cannot look at her. 

 

“Neither am I.” She draws his eyes back to her. “Of my own silence I mean.”

 

“You never knew how bad it could be.” 

 

 _“No,”_ she agrees. 

 

He looks at her with that odd wavering expression again. The same one that he’d worn when he’d showed her the ring at the flat and started to cry earlier. “We did our best didn't we? I mean with circumstances being what they were. It wasn’t easy with our jobs, but somehow I managed to purchase a ring and you even managed to have a little baby inside you for a while like we were trying to get to that traditional life after all.” She realizes that this is his goodbye speech to her about a moment, before he says, “But, this is what I was trying to get at, at the flat, before we came here. This is what I'm telling you now. You’ve been running your whole life Mandy and for a little while I allowed myself to believe that you might be running towards me. The first time I was going to propose to you I probably already knew deep down that we weren’t right for each other, but just before the arguing got worse between us I bought it anyway. I thought it might fix things between us. Show that I truly believed in our future. That is the same feeling I had tonight. That I wanted to run with you. All this time I’ve wanted to help you, but I couldn't, not really, because you were always running towards her”-he gently directs Amanda’s head to Molly-“And now that you’ve found her you must never let her go. You understand me?” He pauses. “You must take her by the hand, get out of here and be the people you were meant to be, but most importantly you run. Never stop running together.” She looks at him with bulbous brown eyes that are slightly concerned as well as just taking everything in. She looks at Molly. She gets it then. Hadn't Mycroft said just that night that she’d needed someone to be supporting her in the time since the miscarriage? Well she has had someone all along and that person is Molly. Molly’s always been there for her in fact, the little moments they’d shared together in the office and the fact that she’d managed to tell her about the miscarriage being far from the only times. When she looks at Molly now she sees a woman who is still hurting, but who has this defiant sense of freedom about her, this inner strength, and she feels warmth, gratitude and energy flowing through her veins. More than that though she feels pride and love. Yes, _love._ She sees that now. That’s why the thought of anything bad happening to Molly had totally consumed her. She looks back at Mycroft. Then she sees the pain that he is going through and so dearly trying to hide and she hugs him. 

 

She knows, perhaps more keenly in that moment that he has always loved her more than she’s loved him, but still murmurs tearfully, “I’ll always have a special place in my heart for you.”

 

He makes a compressed kind of gurgling sound now, hands shifting upon her back. “I too for you.” He sniffs, withdrawing from her slowly. That is all the pity he will honestly allow her to feel for him. “I know too that should you and Miss. Hooper over there”-he tries to smile, he really does-“Get married.” It somehow doesn’t feel too early for him to be saying that. “Then you will want your own symbols of how much you mean to one another, but I feel, that in any case, this still belongs to you.” He gets the swan ring out now from where its been stowed inside his pocket and hands it to her. 

 

She smiles in a watery fashion at the box and looks up at him. _“You-?”_

 

“I find that there will never be anyone quite like you.” He smiles bravely at her, before he seems suddenly fascinated by her hand. She looks at him strangely. “May I?” He looks at her imploringly now. Face softening she nods. He draws it up to his lips and kisses it. He lowers it, but gives it a long squeeze, before he finally lets go. 

 

There doesn’t need to be anything else said between them. 

 

*

 

When the police come none of them say a word about John’s involvement in killing Moriarty. The authorities know that someone’s lying, but they can’t do anything about it with no one talking. Everyone was apparently looking a different way when the shot rang out and Moriarty dropped to the floor, cold, stone dead. 

 

*

 

“I always wanted to be like you,” Molly confesses later that night-or is it early that morning?-when she and Amanda are sitting on the settee in Amanda’s flat. They've got a lot to talk about. Turned into one another and with two glasses of wine on the coffee table Amanda strokes soothingly at Molly’s hands sending electric charges through them as she does so. The younger woman’s fingers rest upon Amanda’s legs and Amanda can feel them warm and soft there. Molly is more relaxed now and less surprised than she had been when she’d discovered Amanda waiting for her just outside the police station. 

 

“I don’t know why.” Amanda is embarrassed. She’s nothing special she knows. 

 

“You’ve always been so strong.” Molly looks to the side of her. “When I first came to work for you and saw you just riding through that male-dominated environment I wanted you to notice me. That’s all, for you to truly see me through all those men.”

 

Amanda feels a surge of guilt inside her that it had taken all this to happen for her to do that, before she decides to tease, “Oh yes, because hospital morgues have traditionally always been full of women.” 

 

Molly blushes shyly at that. Amanda tilts up her beautiful chin with delicate fingers and kisses her. Their lips brush together in one fleeting, swift moment, before Amanda withdraws again. “I'm sorry,” she apologizes, whilst Molly looks stunned, “I just couldn't resist. Was that too soon?” She doesn’t want Molly thinking that she’s taking advantage of her, but mostly she doesn’t want the young woman going from one bad relationship to the next. She’ll do anything to not make that happen. To ensure that things work this time. 

 

“No. I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Molly confesses now, “But I thought Mycroft and you”- Amanda shakes her head. Molly looks sad for a moment, before she looks all the more reassured. She can’t help it and Amanda smiles. She frowns though when Molly asks her, “In any case you didn't just do that because you feel sorry for me did you? Because I’ve had experiences too Amanda. People think that I'm just this shy little girl, but I'm not.” She looks suddenly fierce now. “I know you’re a little more open with your experiences”-Amanda thinks rather that it’s like she hadn’t had any choice, but to be open about them-“But I’ve had ones with other women, _and_ with men aside from Jim.” 

 

It makes Amanda feel warm to think about Molly doing such things. “I look forward to seeing what you’ve learnt from these experiences sometime.” She thinks that Molly will be more in control in the bedroom than she’ll be even though Molly pinkens much to her delight. “But no. I didn't do it because I feel sorry for you and I understand if you want to move slowly, I might have to myself, but I did it because I’ve been very fond of you for a very long time now”-they’ll tell each other that they love one another later, but now is not the time to-“My mind’s only just realized though. It took me a while to wake up.” 

 

“I heard you do that,” Molly says flirtatiously, before she kisses her. Mycroft had always been very gentle with her, though he did have a tendency to nip and wriggle about when things were getting more heated, but kissing Molly is like sinking into a soft, luxurious bath at the end of the day. It makes Amanda feel breathless. There is one last thing she has to try and summon the energy to say though. 

 

“I do wish you’d told me.” She looks at her new love concernedly. Molly stiffens. “No, I don’t mean”- Amanda tries to correct herself and not be the Mycroft in this situation. She traces her hands over Molly’s shoulders-“I know it was hard for you. I’m not blaming you for any of this. You must know that none of this is your fault.” Molly nods with teary eyes, though Amanda can tell that she’s still struggling to believe it. “I just would have liked to help.” She squeezes Molly’s hand now. “But I know that I’m self-absorbed sometimes.” 

 

“I don’t mind as long as you wake up at the end of it,” Molly whispers, “I’ll always be by your side.” 

 

“Maybe we could do that campaign about domestic abuse together now?” Amanda tests the water out. “It will be a risk in a dying government, but I don’t find that, that matters half as much.”

 

Molly nods, before she and Amanda both smile. They kiss again. 

 

*

 

The government crumples so quickly after that though that an election is called and Amanda and Molly don’t get around to doing such a campaign. They will in the future though. They’ll take some time off after the election, before Amanda will remove herself from politics completely, not having gotten re-elected and work on passion projects, whilst Molly will return to her work as a pathologist. First though they've got some more talking, healing and making love to do. The fact that three top government employees have been involved in a suspicious death means that DoSAC is even less of a department now than what it was and like a ghost floor, everyone being quiet and trying to keep their heads down until their inevitable defeat. It seems, that without even meaning to, Amanda, Mycroft and Malcolm have brought down the British government and done exactly what James Moriarty had wanted all along. 

 

On the afternoon of Election Day Amanda makes her way to Malcolm’s office. She thinks that it will be for the last time and she is quite right. 

 

“Come the fuck in or fuck the fuck off,” is the greeting that she gets. 

 

“Charming as ever.” She breezes in. 

 

“What are you doing here Miss. Penny Lane? Don’t you have a low profile to keep to?” he grumbles from his place behind his desk. 

 

“Not any more Malcolm. It’s election day.”

 

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed. Why are you here then?”

 

“I thought, that seeing how we probably won’t be seeing much of each other again after tonight that we could afford to have one drink together now.”

 

“That sounds like Molly’s idea?” he catches on. 

 

“It might have been,” she relents, feeling annoyed with how easily he has seen through her, but then he’d probably worked out that it couldn't be her own. Not after she’d found that Malcolm had secretly been trying to get rid of her all this time from Mycroft. Molly though had made her see that she probably would have felt in a similar fashion and tried to do the same if she’d been looking at things in the overview way that Malcolm does. Truly like a General moving his troops about. It was a concept that Amanda had taken offence to at first-the idea that Molly could ever think her capable of doing such a thing-before Molly had soothed her with the idea that even if that weren’t the case then Malcolm had at least called everyone when things had started to kick off after she’d confessed instead of dismissing her at once and letting everyone else play catch-up. He had at least done right by them all there. That had left Amanda wishing that she could see the wood from the trees like Molly does. _‘Maybe you will do after the election,’_ had been what her girlfriend had said. 

 

“She’s making you sentimental.” He raises an eyebrow at her now, as if he’s catching the drift of her thoughts. .

 

 _“Maybe,”_ she smiles, gathering the decanter of scotch and some glasses up. 

 

Mycroft arrives in the next moment and he’s almost stammering out an apology and getting out of there again when Malcolm huffs, “Oh, sit down would you? If Amanda’s decided that we’re having a party then you’re invited.” 

 

Amanda smiles at Mycroft now, directs him to a chair and hands him the glass that she’d been going to give to Malcolm. 

 

“Well fuck me,” the Scot says underneath his breath. 

 

“Not just now Malcolm.”

 

“Aye, take it you’re a bit busy on that front.” He eyes her. 

 

She blushes a bit, but says when she catches Mycroft’s awkward grimace, “This is all right isn’t it?” She pats at his knee reassuringly. He nods, giving her a wonky smile. Her heart flips over in her chest like it always does at that smile. This time is going to be different than their break up before she’d decided. They will be civil and more than that they will be friends. 

 

“Yes, it’s fine Mandy- _sorry”-_

 

“It’s all right,” she says at him shortening her name again, patting at his hand. 

 

Molly swoops in once they’re all seated and hovers a little awkwardly by Malcolm’s desk, not quite wanting to have her back turned towards the Scot. Amanda knows what she would like to do, but trying to be mindful, looks at Mycroft first. There’s a small upturn to his lips and she’s reminded of his words about running. He nods discreetly at her. 

 

“Come here love. It’s okay.” She looks back at Molly who comes to sit obligingly on her knee. They smile and giggle with one another for a moment, before they kiss chastely. Malcolm pulls a bit of a face, but Mycroft just smiles. 

 

It’s true that he feels pain still and there’s a cavern inside his chest from where his relationship with Amanda used to be, but he’s doing better from knowing that Moriarty’s not still around to hurt anyone and that Amanda’s so happy and relaxed now because she can truly be comfortable and her real self with Molly like she never could be with him. He knows that she couldn't be as healthy with him because although they’d had that connection to begin with the more they’d gotten to know one another the less that had been there and the more friction that had grown between them due to their similar styles and work ethic. But Molly has seen her up close in and out of work, been told Amanda’s darkest secret from the off and been there for her through the good times and bad. Amanda might not like it all the time, but Molly truly does know her. She cannot put on pretence for her like she had sometimes for him-especially around working matters where they’d both been slightly suspicious of one another-and she is better off because of it. Mycroft feels happier too from quite frankly knowing that he’s only got a few hours of Malcolm left.

 

Amanda and he share a little conspiratory smile together now, the former still holding onto Molly tightly like he’d once suggested she did. In that moment they can both see it. Amanda and Molly getting married one day. Mycroft acting as Amanda’s best man and even Malcolm looking somewhat oddly contented about the scene before him. But that’s in the future and this is right now. Amanda looks away from him and back at Molly whose got love and a deep affection in her eyes for her, and Mycroft, in a rare blossoming of pride, feels pleased with all that Amanda’s learnt.


End file.
